FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURi 


GRANT  ALLEN 


LIBRARY 

OI?  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

ENTOMOtOW 
Class  LIBRABY 


TURE 
SUVCATiO* 


UVCATi 


FLASHLIGHTS   ON    NATURE 


CLOVER   BLOSSOMS 

"  Every  species  of  clover  has  some  dodge  of  its  own  for  protecting  its  seeds 
after  fertilisation  " 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON 
NATURE  A  POPULAR 

ACCOUNT  OF  THE  LIFE  HIS- 
TORIES OF  SOME  FAMILIAR 
INSECTS,  BIRDS,  PLANTS,  ETC. 


BY 

GRANT    ALLEN 

AUTHOR  OF  "  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  IDEA  OF  GOD, 
"THE  STORY  OF  THE  PLANTS,"  ETC. 


PHOTOGRAPHIC   FRONTISPIECE  BY  J.  H.  McFARLAND 

AND    NEARLY    ONE    HUNDRED    AND    FIFTY    DRAWINGS 

By  FREDERICK   ENOCK 


OF   THE 

f  UNIVERSITY   ) 

OF 


NEW    YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,   PAGE  &  COMPANY 
1905 


ENTOMOLOGY 
LIBRARY 


Copyright,  1898,  by 
Doubleday  &  McClure  Company 

Copyright,  1905,  by 
Doubleday,  Page  &  Company 


All  rights  reserved, 

including  that  of  translation  into  foreign  languages, 
including  the  Scandinavian 


CONTENTS    AND    ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGB 

THE   COWS   THAT  ANTS    MILK    .        .....  i 

A   BRANCH   OF   THE   FAMILY  TREE 3 

WORN-OUT  MOTHER 5 

BUDDING    MOTHER 9 

WINGED   FEMALE II 

UNNATURAL   LODGER             12 

A   TRAGIC   ENEMY          .            . 14 

AN    ANT    MILKING    A    ROSE   APHIS 1 6 

A   COMIC    ENEMY 21 

A  PLANT  THAT  MELTS  ICE    .    .    .    .    .  25 

LEAVES   OF    SOLDANELLA     ...          .           ...         '.  33 

BUD    BEGINNING   TO    MELT    ITS    WAY    UP     .           ,           ...  34 

BUD   ENCLOSED    IN    A   GLOBE    OF    AIR  35 

FLOWER    REACHING   SURFACE   OF    ICE           .           ...  36 

FLOWER   VISITED    BY   A   BEE 37 

A   GROUP   OF   FLOWERS    PROTRUDING   THROUGH    ICE           .  39 

A   PAIR   OF    FLOWERS    WHICH    HAVE    FAILED       ...  4! 

A   BEAST   OF   PREY    ........  47 

COCOON  OF  YOUNG  SPIDERS 49 

YOUNG  SPIDERLINGS  CASTING  FIRST  THREADS        .         .  52 

BABY  SPIDER  IN  ITS  FIRST  SNARE 53 

ROSALIND'S  SPINNERETS 56 

FOOT,  CLAWS,  AND  FACE  OF  SPIDER        ....  57 

ROSALIND  ON  HER  WAY  TO  BLOW- FLY     ....  62 

ROSALIND  TRUNDLING  BLOW-FLY     .       .-       .       .       .  63 

A  SPIDER  CHANGING  ITS  CLOTHES  .       ...       .       .  65 

ROSALIND  AND  HER  SUITORS   .       .       .       .               .  .  6/ 

v 


201877 


vi  CONTENTS    AND    ILLUSTRATIONS 


A  WOODLAND   TRAGEDY 71 

THE   BUTCHER-BIRD 74 

THE  BUTCHER-BIRD'S  WIFE       .        .  ....        75 

PAKT   OF   HIS    LARDER  .  .  .  .  I  .  .76 

HIS   WIFE    IMPALING   A    HARVEST-MOUSE   ....  79 

BEETLLS   AND    FIELD-MOUSE 84 

"  I    WANT   THAT    FLY  " 86 

THE   WIFE   ON    HER    NEST 87 

MARRIAGE   AMONG   THE   CLOVERS     ....         94 

FEMALE    BEGONIA   FLOWERS 96 

THE   SEED-BAG 98 

FLOWERS    IN    BUD          .  .  .  .  .  .  .  99 

MALE   FLOWER,    FRONT   VIEW      .  .  .  .  IOO 

MALE   FLOWER,    BACK    VIEW IOI 

DUTCH    CLOVER    IN    SIX   ASPECTS          ....  105-113 

STRAWBERRY   CLOVER    IN    FIVE   ASPECTS    .  .  .  115-119 

THOSE   HORRID    EARWIGS 121 

PORTRAIT  OF  A  GENTLEMAN    .       .        .        .       .        .124 

PORTRAIT  OF  A  LADY       .        .       .  .        .       .125 

WITH  WINGS  EXPANDED 128 

BEGINNING  TO  CLOSE 129 

SEVEN  FURTHER  STAGES 130-136 

THE  TAIL  HELPS 137 

THE  USE  OF  THE  PINCERS .138 

THE  TAIL  STRAIGHTENED  AGAIN 139 

THE  WING  BENEATH  THE  WING-CASE      .  140 

THE  WING-CASE  RAISED 14! 

SITTING  ON  HER  EGGS 142 

HER  BROOD  OF  CHICKS 143 

CAMPODEA 144 

THE  EARWIG'S  MOUTH 145 

THE   FIRST   PAPER-MAKER     ......       148 

FAMILY    PORTRAITS 150 

THE   CITY,    TWO    DAYS    OLD .156 

THE   CITY,    FIVE   DAYS   OLD          .  .  .  .  -  .157 


CONTENTS    AND    ILLUSTRATIONS  vii 

PAGE 

THE   CITY,    FIFTEEN    DAYS   OLD 158 

NEST   OF   TREE   WASP,    TWO   ASPECTS              .            .           .  164,   165 

WASP'S    HEAD    IN    FIVE   ASPECTS             ....  l68-IJ2 

QUEEN    WASP   WITH    FOLDED   WINGS              .           .            .  .173 

PART   OF   TWO   WINGS             .            .            ,    .        .           .           .  .         174 

THE   POISON-BAG            .            .                        .            ...        '  '  ..  .          175 

DARTS    MAGNIFIED .  -^  ..          176 

THE   WASP'S   BRUSH   AND   COMB             .           *           .           .  .         176 

TUCKS    IN    THE    SEGMENTS        ,     .          ...          .           .            .  .          177 

ABIDING   CITIES          •  •':;••"      .<  .'•       .        .        .        .  179 

A  WOOD  ANTS'  NEST,  EXTERIOR 180 

A  WOOD  ANTS'  NEST,  INTERIOR  .        .        .        .        .  181 

"LET'S  GO  SLAVE-HUNTING"    .'  .  .'    ' . .'  f    .'       .  '•    .  186 

A   SLAVE-HUNT     .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .        .".  189 

PAYING   OFF   OLD   SCORES    .  .  "  '     .'  "      .  .  .  .  190 

A   LONG   PULL   AND   A    STRONG    PULL  .  .  .  .  191 

THE   GARDEN    ANT        .  .          '.  .  •  •  •  .  194 

HEAD   OF   GARDEN    ANT        .  .  .    '       .  .  .          196,  197 

THE   ANT'S    BRUSH    AND    COMB    ......  199 

A   FROZEN   WORLD    .-...;...       204 

THE   GREAT    POND-SNAIL    IN    SUMMER          ....         212 
THE   GREAT   POND-SNAIL    IN    WINTER  ....         213 

THE   CURLED   POND-WEED    PRODUCING    SHOOTS  .  .         214 

THE   SHO  )TS   BEFORE,    DURING,    AND    AFTER    FROST  215-217 

THE   WHIRLIGIG   BEETLE    DANCING   AND   SLEEPING  221,  223 

THE    FROGBIT    IN    SUMMFR   AND    WINTER  .  .         225,  227 

ITS    BUDS    RISING    IN    SPRING        .  .-  »  ^  .  .         229 

BRITISH   BLOODSUCKERS       ..      .        .        .        .        .      232 

THE  MOSQUITO'S  EGG-RAFT,  IN  TWO  ASPECTS  .        .       206,  237 

THE  EGGS  HATCHING  AND  YOUNG  ESCAPING  .       .       .  238 

THE  MOSQUITO  LARVA  STANDING  ON  HIS  HEAD     .         .  239 

THE  LARVA'S  BREATHING-TUBE        .        .        .      ..        .  241 

THE  CHRYSALIS  BREATHING 242 

THE  MOSQUITO  EMERGES 244 

AND  MAKES  A  BOAT  OF  HER  OLD  SKIN  ....  246 


Vlil  CONTENTS    AND    ILLUSTRATIONS 

PACS 

HEADS    OF   MOSQUITOES 247 


THE    GADFLY 
HIS    LANCETS 


252 

254 


AND   THEIR   CUTTING   EDGES 256 

A  VERY   INTELLIGENT   PLANT 258 

THE    BABY    GORSE    PLANT 262 

AT   ONE   WEEK   OLD 263 

OUTGROWING   ITS   INFANT  STAGE 265 

THE   YOUNG   SHRUB    BEGINS   TO   ARM    ITSELF     .  .  .  267 

THE   GENISTA 26g 

THE    BROOM 269 

PROTECTING  THE   TUDS       . 270 

271 


THE   GREAT-COAT 


THE    FLOWER,    HALF   OPENED 276 

DISCHARGING   POLLEN-SHOWERS 277 

THE    POD,    WITH   BEANS 28o 

THE    POD,    AFTER   DISCHARGING    BEANS      .  .  .  .281 

A  FOREIGN   INVASION   OF   ENGLAND        .        .        .284 

AN    INVALID    BARLEY   PLANT 288 

THE   SOURCE   OF   THE   MISCHIEF 289 

THE   GRUB   AT   WORK 290 

SEVEN   WELL-FAVOURED   EARS 292 

SEVEN   LEAN    EARS 293 

THE   GRUB   TURNING    ROUND 295 

THE   CLIMBING   PUPA 299 

THE    PUPA   COMES   OUT 300 

AND   THE   FLY   COMES   OUT   OF    IT 301 

ANTENNA   FREE  ! 302 

WINGS    FREE  ! 303 

NOW    FOR   THE    LEGS  ! 304 

THE   LAST   PULL 305 

HANGING    HERSELF    UP   TO   DRY 30^ 

WILY   ENEMY   LAYING   HER   EGGS  ?n 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


THE  COWS  THAT  ANTS  MILK 

DON'T  let  my  title  startle  you  ;  it  was  Linnaeus 
himself  who  first  invented  it.  Everybody 
knows  the  common  little  "  green-flies "  or 
"  plant-lice"  that  cluster  thick  on  the  shoots  of 
roses ;  and  most  people  know  that  these  trouble- 
some small  insects  (from  the  human  point  of  view) 
are  the  true  source  of  that  shining  sweet  juice, 
rather  slimy  and  clammy,  that  covers  so  many 
leaves  in  warm  summer  weather,  and  is  com- 
monly called  honey-dew.  A  good  many  people 
have  heard,  too,  that  ants  use  the  tiny  green  crea- 
tures in  place  of  cows,  coaxing  them  with  their 
feelers  so  as  to  make  them  yield  up  the  sweet  and 
nutritious  juice  which  is  the  ants'  substitute  for 
butter  at  breakfast.  But  comparatively  few  are 
aware  how  strange  and  eventful  is  the  brief  life- 
history  of  these  insignificant  little  beasts  which  we 
destroy  by  the  thousand  in  our  flower-gardens  or 
conservatories  with  a  sprinkle  of  tobacco -water. 

A 


2  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

To  the  world  at  large,  the  aphides,  as  we  call  them, 
are  mere  nameless  nuisances  —  pests  that  infest 
our  choicest  plants  ;  to  the  eye  of  the  naturalist, 
they  are  a  marvellous  and  deeply  interesting 
group  of  animals,  with  one  of  the  oddest  pedi- 
grees, one  of  the  queerest  biographies,  known  to 
science. 

I  propose,  therefore,  in  this  paper  briefly  to 
recount  their  story  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave ; 
or,  rather,  to  be  literally  accurate,  from  the  time 
when  they  first  emerge  from  the  egg  to  the  moment 
when  they  are  eaten  alive  (with  some  hundreds  of 
their  kind)  by  one  or  other  of  their  watchful  ene- 
mies. .In  this  task  I  shall  be  aided  not  a  little 
by  the  clever  and  vivid  dramatic  sketches  of  the 
Aphides  at  Home,  which  have  been  prepared  for 
me  by  my  able  and  watchful  collaborator,  Mr. 
Frederick  Enock,  an  enthusiastic  and  observant 
naturalist,  who  thinks  nothing  of  sitting  up  all 
night,  if  so  he  may  catch  a  beetle's  egg  at  the 
moment  of  hatching  ;  and  who  will  keep  his  eye 
to  the  microscope  for  twelve  hours  at  a  stretch, 
relieved  only  by  occasional  light  refreshment  in  the 
shape  of  a  sandwich,  if  so  he  may  intercept  some 
rare  chrysalis  at  its  moment  of  bursting,  or  behold 
some  special  grub  spin  the  silken  cocoon  within 
whose  case  it  is  to  develop  into  the  perfect  winged 
insect. 

Rose-aphides,  or  "  green-flies,"  as  most  people 
call  them,  are,  to  the  casual  eye,  a  mere  mass  of 
living  "  blight " — a  confused  group  of  tiny  trans- 


THE  Cows  THAT  ANTS   MILK  3 

lucent  insects,  moored  by  their  beaks  or  sucking- 
tubes  to  the  shoots  of  the  plant  on  which  they  have 
been  born,  and  which  they  seldom  quit  unless 
forcibly  ejected.  For  they  are  no  Columbuses. 
The  spray  of  rose-bush  figured  in  sketch  No.  I 
shows  a  small  part  of  one  such  numerous  house- 
hold in  quiet  possession  of  its  family  tree  and 


NO.    I. — A   BRANCH   OF   THE    FAMILY  TREE. 

engaged,  as  is  its  wont,  in  sucking  for  dear  life  at 
the  juices  of  its  own  peculiar  food-plant.  You 
will  observe  that  they  are  clustered  closest  at  the 
growing-point.  Each  little  beast  of  this  complex 
family  is  coloured  protectively  green,  so  as  to  be 
as  inconspicuous  as  possible  to  the  keen  eyes  of  its 
numerous  enemies  ;  and  each  sticks  to  its  chosen 
twig  with  beak  and  sucker  as  long  as  there  is  any- 


4  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

thing  left  to  drink  in  it,  only  moving  away  on  its 
six  sprawling  legs  when  its  native  spot  has  been 
drained  dry  of  all  nutriment. 

We  often  talk  metaphorically  of  vegetating  :  the 
aphis  vegetates.  Indeed,  aphides  are  as  sluggish 
in  their  habits  and  manners  as  it  is  possible  for 
a  living  and  locomotive  animal  to  be  :  they  do  not 
actually  fasten  for  life  to  one  point,  like  oysters  or 
barnacles ;  but  they  are  born  on  a  soft  shoot  of 
some  particular  plant ;  they  stick  their  sucking-tube 
into  it  as  soon  as  they  emerge ;  they  anchor  them- 
selves on  the  spot  for  an  indefinite  period  ;  and 
they  only  move  on  to  a  new  " claim"  when  sheer 
want  of  food  or  force  majeure  compels  them.  The 
winged  members  are  an  exception  :  they  are  founders 
of  new  colonies,  and  are  now  on  their  way  to  some 
undiscovered  Tasmania. 

And,  indeed,  as  we  shall  see,  these  stick-in-the- 
mud  creatures  have  yet,  in  the  lump,  a  mo^t  event- 
ful history — a  history  fraught  with  strange  loves, 
with  hairbreadth  escapes,  with  remorseless  foes, 
with  almost  incredible  episodes.  They  have  enemies 
enough  to  satisfy  Mr.  Rider  Haggard  or  the  British 
schoolboy.  If  you  look  at  No.  2,  you  will  see  the 
first  stage  in  the  Seven  Ages  of  a  rose-aphis  family. 
The  cycle  of  their  life  begins  in  autumn,  with  the 
annual  laying  of  the  winter  eggs  ;  these  eggs  are 
carefully  deposited  on  the  leaf-buds  of  some  rose- 
bush, by  a  perfect  wingless  female,  at  the  first 
approach  of  the  cold  weather.  I  say  a  perfect 
wingless  female,  because,  as  I  shall  explain  here- 


THE  Cows  THAT  ANTS   MILK 


after,  most  aphides  (and  especially  all  the  summer 
crops  or  generations  that  appear  with  such  miracu- 
lous rapidity  on  our  roses  and  fruit-trees)  are 
poor  fatherless  creatures  ;  waifs  and  strays,  budded 
out  vegetatively  like  the 
shoots  of  a  plant. 

About  this  strange 
retrogressive  mode  of 
reproduction,  however, 
I  shall  have  more  to 
tell  you  in  due  time 
by-and-by  ;  for  the  pre- 
sent, we  will  confine 
ourselves  to  the  im- 
mediate history  of  the 
autumn  brood,  which 
is  regularly  produced  in 
the  legitimate  fashion, 
as  the  result  of  an  or- 
dinary insect  marriage 
between  perfectly  de- 
veloped males  and 
females.  As  October 
approaches,  a  special 
generation  of  such  per- 
fect males  and  females 
is  produced  by  the  un- 

wedded  summer  green-flies ;  and  the  females  of 
this  brood,  specially  told  off  for  the  purpose,  lay 
the  winter  eggs,  which  are  destined  to  carry  on  the 
life  of  the  species  across  the  colder  months,  when 


NO.   2. — WORN-OUT   MOTHER — 
LAYING   HER   LAST   EGG. 


6  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

no  fresh  shoots  for  food  and  drink  are  to  be  found 
in  the  frozen  fields  or  gardens. 

The  eggs,  so  to  speak,  must  be  regarded  as  a 
kind  of  deferred  brood,  to  bridge  over  the  chilly 
time  when  living  aphides  cannot  obtain  a  livelihood 
in  the  open.  In  No.  2  we  see,  above,  a  rose-twig 
with  its  leaf-buds,  which  are  undeveloped  leaves, 
inclosed  in  warm  coverings,  and  similarly  intended 
to  bridge  over  the  winter  on  behalf  of  the  rose-bush. 
On  this  twig,  then,  we  have  the  winter  eggs  of  the 
aphis,  mere  dots  represented  in  their  natural  size  ; 
they  are  providently  laid  on  the  bud,  which  in  early 
spring  will  grow  out  into  a  shoot,  and  thus  supply 
food  at  once  for  the  young  green-flies  as  they  hatch 
and  develop.  So  beautifully  does  Nature  in  her 
wisdom  take  care  that  blight  in  due  season  shall 
never  be  wanting  to  our  Marshal  Niels  and  our 
Gloires  de  Dijon  ! 

In  the  same  sketch,  too,  we  have,  below,  a 
pathetic  illustration,  greatly  magnified,  of  the 
poor  old  worn-out  mother,  a  martyr  to  maternity, 
laying  her  last  egg  in  the  crannies  of  the  bud 
she  has  chosen.  I  say  "a  martyr  to  maternity" 
in  solemn  earnest.  You  will  observe  that  she 
is  a  shrivelled  and  haggard  specimen  of  over-bur- 
dened motherhood.  The  duties  of  her  station 
have  clearly  been  too  much  for  her.  The  reason 
is  that  she  literally  uses  herself  up  in  the  pro- 
duction of  offspring ;  which  is  not  surprising,  if 
you  consider  the  relative  size  of  egg  and  egg-layer. 
When  this  model  mother  began  to  lay,  I  can  assure 


THE  Cows  THAT  ANTS   MILK  7 

you  she  was  fat  and  well-favoured,  as  attractive  a 
young  green-fly  as  you  would  be  likely  to  come 
across  in  a  day's  march  on  the  surface  of  a  rose- 
twig.  But  once  she  sets  to  work,  she  lays  big  eggs 
with  a  will  (big,  that  is  to  say,  compared  with  her 
own  size),  till  she  has  used  up  all  her  soft  internal 
material ;  and  when  she  has  finished,  she  dies — or, 
rather,  she  ceases  to  be ;  for  there  is  nothing  left 
of  her  but  a  dried  and  shrivelled  skin. 

During  the  winter,  indeed — in  cold  climates  at 
least — the  race  of  aphides  dies  out  altogether  for 
the  time  being,  or  only  protracts  an  artificial  exist- 
ence in  the  heated  air  of  green-houses  and  drawing- 
rooms.  The  species  is  represented  at  such  dormant 
periods  by  the  fertilised  eggs  alone,  which  lie  snug 
among  the  folds  or  scales  of  the  buds  till  March 
or  April  comes  back  again  to  wake  them.  Then, 
with  the  first  genial  weather,  the  eggs  hatch  out, 
and  a  joyous  new  brood  of  aphides  emerges.  And 
here  comes  in  one  of  the  greatest  wonders  ;  for 
these  summer  broods  do  not  consist,  like  their 
parents  in  autumn,  of  males  and  females,  but  of 
imperfect  mothers — all  mothers  alike,  all  brother- 
less  sisters,  and  all  budding  out  young  as  fast  as 
they  can  go,  without  the  trouble  and  expense  of 
a  father.  They  put  forth  their  progeny  as  a  tree 
puts  forth  leaves,  by  mere  division.  The  new 
broods  thus  produced  are  budded  out  tail  first,  as 
shown  in  No.  3,  so  that  all  the  members  of  the 
family  stand  with  their  heads  in  the  same  direction, 
the  mother  moving  on  as  her  offspring  increases ; 


8  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

and  since  each  new  aphis  instantly  begins  to  fix 
its  proboscis  into  the  soft  leaf-tissue,  and  in  turn 
to  bud  out  other  broods  of  its  own,  you  need  not 
wonder  that  your  favourite  roses  are  so  quickly 
covered  with  a  close  layer  of  blight  in  genial 
weather. 

To  say  the  truth,  the  rate  of  increase  in  aphides 
is  so  incredibly  rapid,  that  one  dare  hardly  mention 
it  without  seeming  to  exaggerate.  A  single  in- 
dustrious little  green-fly,  which  devotes  itself  with 
a  quiet  mind  to  eating  and  reproduction,  may  easily 
within  its  own  lifetime  become  the  ancestor  of  some 
billions  of  great-grandchildren.  It  is  not  difficult 
to  see  why  this  should  be  so.  The  original  parent 
buds  out  little  ones  from  its  own  substance  at  a 
prodigious  rate ;  and  each  of  these  juniors,  reach- 
ing maturity  at  a  bound,  begins  at  once  to  bud  out 
others  in  turn,  so  that  as  long  as  food  and  fine 
weather  remain  the  population  increases  in  an 
almost  unthinkable  ratio.  Of  course,  it  is  the  ex- 
treme abundance  of  food  and  the  ease  of  living 
that  result  in  this  extraordinary  rate  of  fertility ; 
the  race  has  no  Malthus  to  keep  it  in  check — each 
aphis  need  only  plunge  its  beak  into  the  rose-shoots 
or  leaves  and  suck ;  it  can  get  enough  food  without 
the  slightest  trouble  to  maintain  itself  and  a  nume- 
rous progeny.  It  does  not  move  about  recklessly, 
or  use  up  material  in  any  excessive  intellectual 
effort ;  all  it  eats  goes  at  once  to  the  production 
of  more  and  more  aphides  in  rapid  succession. 

Many  things,   however,  conspire    to    show  that 


THE  Cows  THAT  ANTS  MILK 


aphides  did  not  always  lead  so  slothful  a  life  : 
they  are  creatures  with  a  past,  the  unworthy 
descendants  of  higher  insects,  which  have  de- 
generated to  this  level 
through  the  excessive 
abundance  of  their  food, 
and  through  their  adop- 
tion- of  what  is  prac- 
tically a  parasitic  habit. 
When  life  is  too  easy, 
men  and  insects  in- 
variably degenerate : 
struggle  is  good  for  us. 
One  of  these  little  indi- 
cations of  a  higher  past 
Mr.  Enock  has  given  us 
in  the  upper  part  of 
sketch  No.  3.  For  some 
members  of  the  brood 
go  through  regular  stages 
of  grub  and  chrysalis, 
like  any  other  flies  ;  or,  if 
you  wish  to  be  accurately 
scientific,  pass  through 
the  usual  forms  of  larva 
and  pupa,  before  they 
reach  the  full  adult  con- 
dition. This,  of  course,  shows  them  to  be  the 
descendants  of  higher  insects  which  underwent  the 
common  metamorphosis  of  their  kind.  But  most 
of  the  budded-out,  fatherless  broods  in  summer  are 


NO.  3. — BUDDING  MOTHER  — 
PRODUCING  A  FATHERLESS 
BROOD 


io  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

produced  ready-made,  without  the  necessity  for 
passing  through  larval  or  infantile  stages.  Or 
rather,  they  never  grow  up  :  they  merely  moult ; 
and  they  produce  more  young  while  they  are  still 
larvae.  They  are  born  fully  formed,  and  proceed 
forthwith  to  moor  themselves,  to  feed,  and  to  bud 
out  fresh  generations,  without  sensible  interval.  In 
No.  3  we  have  various  stages  in  the  development 
of  the  spring  brood.  Above  we  see  the  pupa,  or 
chrysalis,  produced  from  a  grub  (not  very  grub-like 
in  shape),  which  has  sprung  from  an  egg ;  and  on 
the  right,  below,  we  see  the  shrivelled  larval  skin 
from  which  it  has  just  freed  itself.  This  particular 
aphis  was  thus  born  as  a  'six-legged  larva  from  an 
autumn  egg ;  it  passes  through  the  intermediate 
form  of  a  pupa,  or  chrysalis  ;  and  it  will  finally 
develop  into  a  winged  " viviparous"  female,  such 
as  you  see  in  No.  4  below,  putting  out  its  young 
alive  as  fast  as  ever  its  wee  body  can  bud  them. 
You  may  observe,  however,  that  in  the  case  of 
aphides  there  is  no  great  difference  of  form  between 
the  three  successive  stages.  Larva,  pupa,  and  fly 
are  almost  identical. 

In  No.  4,  again,  we  have  a  portrait  from  life  of 
such  a  winged  female,  the  mother  of  a  numerous 
fatherless  progeny ;  for  both  winged  and  wingless 
forms  are  produced  through  the  summer.  She  is 
round  and  well-fed,  as  becomes  a  matron.  Observe 
in  particular  the  curious  pair  of  tubes  on  the  last 
few  rings  of  her  back ;  these  are  the  organs  for 
secreting  nectar  or  honey-dew ',  a  point  about  which 


THE  Cows  THAT  ANTS   MILK 


1 1 


I  shall  have  a  good  deal  more  to  say  presently.  A 
winged  female  like  this  may  fly  away  to  another 
rose-bush  to  become  the  foundress  of  a  distant 
colony.  The  same  illustration  also  shows,  in  a 
greatly  enlarged  form,  her  beak  or  sucking  appa- 
ratus, which  con- 
sists of  four  sharp 
lance  -  like  siphons, 
enclosed  in  a  pro- 
tective sheath  or 
proboscis,  and  ad- 
mirably adapted 
both  for  piercing 
the  rose-twig  and  for 
draining  the  juices 
of  your  choicest 
crimson  ramblers. 
The  aphis  sticks  in 
the  point  as  if  it 
were  a  needle,  and 
then  sucks  away 
vigorously  at  the 
rose-tree's  life-blood. 
You  can  watch  her 
so  any  day  with  a 
common  small  mag- 
nifier, and  see  how,  like  the  lady  at  Mr.  Stiggins' 
tea  meeting,  she  "  swells  wisibly"  in  the  process. 
Indeed,  aphides  are  always  beautiful  objects  for  the 
microscope  or  pocket  lens,  with  their  pale,  trans- 
parent green  bodies,  their  bright  black  eyes,  their 


NO.   4. — WINGED   FEMALE— THE 
FOUNDRESS   OF   A  COLONY. 


12 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


jointed  hairy  legs,  their  delicate  feelers,  and  their 
marvellous  honey-tubes  ;  and  it  will  not  be  my  fault 
if  you  still  continue  to  regard  them  as  nothing  more 
than  the  "  nasty  blight "  that  destroys  your  roses. 

Do  not  for  a  moment 
suppose,  however,  that 
you  and  your  gardener, 
with  his  spray  and  his 
tobacco- water,  are  the  only 
enemies  the  rose-aphis 
possesses.  The  name  of 
her  foes  is  legion.  She  is 
devoured  alive,  from  with- 
out and  from  within,  by  a 
ceaseless  horde  of  aggres- 
sive belligerents.  The 
most  destructive  of  these 
enemies  are  no  doubt  the 
lady-birds,  which,  both 
in  their  larval  and  their 
winged  forms,  live  almost 
entirely  on  various  kinds 
of  green-fly.  This  prac- 
tical fact  in  natural  history 
is  well  known  to  hop- 
growers,  for  the  dreaded 
"  fly  "  on  hops  is  an  aphis ; 
its  abundance  or  otherwise  governs  the  hop  market, 
and  Kentish  farmers  are  keenly  aware  that  a  certain 
particular  lady-bird  eats  the  "fly"  by  millions,  on 
which  account  they  protect  and  foster  the  lady-bird, 


NO.  5. — UNNATURAL  LODGER 
EATS  HIS  HOSTESS  OUT 
OF  HER  SKIN. 


THE  Cows  THAT  ANTS  MILK  13 

thus  leaving  the  two  insects,  the  parasite  and  the 
carnivore,  to  fight  it  out  in  their  own  way  between 
them. 

But  No.  5  introduces  us  to  a  still  more  insidious 
though  less  dangerous  foe  :  an  internal  parasite 
which  lays  its  eggs  inside  the  body  of  the  bud- 
producing  female.  There  the  grub  hatches  out, 
and  proceeds  to  eat  up  its  unwilling  hostess,  alive, 
from  within.  In  the  sketch,  we  have  an  illustration, 
below,  of  an  aphis  which  has  thus  been  compelled 
to  take  in  a  stranger  to  board  and  lodge  in  her 
stomach ;  while  the  top  figure  shows  how  the 
lodger,  after  eating  his  hostess  out,  eats  himself  out 
into  the  open  air  through  her  empty  skin.  If  you 
look  out  closely  for  such  haunted  green-flies,  in- 
habited by  a  parasite — most  often  an  ichneumon 
fly — you  will  find  them  in  abundance  on  the  twigs 
of  rose-bushes.  They  have  a  peculiar  swollen, 
quiescent  look,  and  a  brownish  colour. 

No.  6  shows  us  another  such  fierce  enemy  at 
work.  This  formidable  insect  tiger  is  the  larva  of 
the  wasp-fly  ;  he  is  a  savage  carnivore,  who  moors 
himself  by  his  tail  end,  stretches  out  to  his  full 
length,  and  swoops  down  upon  his  unsuspecting 
prey  from  above  ;  and  being  blessed  with  a  good 
appetite,  he  can  get  rid  of  no  fewer  than  120 
aphides  in  an  hour.  As  he  probably  eats  all  day, 
with  little  intermission  for  rest  and  digestion,  this 
gives  a  grand  total  of  about  1500  or  1600  victims 
at  a  sitting.  However,  the  remaining  aphides  go 
on  budding  away  as  fast  as  ever  to  make  up  the 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


deficiency,  so  the  loss  to  the  race  is  by  no  means 
irreparable.  "  //  riy  a  pas  d'homme  necessaire," 
Napoleon  used  to  say  ;  and  the  principle  is  even 
more  true  as  applied  to  the  green-flies.  If  a  few 
millions  die,  their  place  is  soon  filled  again. 

Look  once  more  at 
No.  6,  and  you  will  see 
that  while  the  tiger-like 
enemy  is  engaged  in 
hoisting  and  devouring 
one  unfortunate  aphis, 
its  neighbour  below, 
heedless  of  the  tragedy, 
is  quietly  engaged  in 
blowing  off  honey-dew. 
This  blowing- off  of 
honey-dew  leads  me  on 
direct  to  the  very  heart 
of  my  subject ;  for  it  is  as 
manufacturers  of  honey- 
dew  and  as  cows  to  the 
ants  that  aphides  base 
their  chief  claim  to  at- 
tention. If  they  did  not 
produce  this  Turkish 

delight  of  the  insect  world,  nobody  would  have 
troubled  to  study  them  so  closely.  Let  us  go  on  to 
see,  then,  what  is  the  origin  and  meaning  of  this 
curious  and  almost  unique  secretion. 

If  you  examine  the  leaves  of  a  lime-tree  or  a 
rose-bush  in  warm  summer  weather  you  will  find 


NO.   6. — TRAGIC    ENEMY    WHO 
DEVOURS    120   PER   HOUR. 


THE  Cows  THAT  ANTS   MILK  15 

them  covered  all  over  with  a  soft  sticky  substance, 
sweet  to  the  taste,  and  spread  in  a  thin  layer  upon 
the  surface  of  the  foliage.  This  sweet  stuff  is  honey- 
dew,  and  it  is  manufactured  solely  by  various  kinds 
of  aphides,  without  whose  trade-mark  none  other  is 
genuine.  Why  do  they  make  it  ?  Not,  you  may  be 
sure,  out  of  pure  unselfish  moral  desire  to  benefit 
the  ants  and  other  beasts  that  like  it.  In^he  animal 
world,  nothing  for  nothing  is  the  principle  of  con- 
duct. The  true  secret  of  the  origin  of  honey-dew 
appears  to  be  this.  Aphides  live  entirely  off  a  light 
diet  of  vegetable  juices ;  now,  these  juices  are  rich 
in  compounds  of  hydrogen  and  carbon,  especially 
sugar  (or  rather,  to  be  strictly  scientific,  glucose), 
but  are  relatively  deficient  in  nitrogenous  materials, 
which  last  are  needed  as  producers  of  movement  by 
all  animals,  however  sluggish.  In  order,  therefore, 
to  procure  enough  nitrogenous  matter  for  its  simple 
needs,  your  aphis  is  obliged  to  eat  its  way  through 
a  quite,  superfluous  amount  of  sweets,  or  of  sugar- 
forming  substances.  It  is  almost  as  though  we 
ourselves  had  to  swallow  daily  a  barrel  of  treacle 
so  as  to  reach  at  the  bottom  an  ounce  of  beefsteak. 
To  get  rid  of  this  surplus  of  sugar  (or  rather,  un- 
digested glucose)  almost  all  aphides  (for  they  are 
a  large  family,  with  many  separate  kinds)  have 
acquired  a  pair  of  peculiar  organs,  known  as  honey- 
tubes,  on  the  backs  of  their  bodies.  Sometimes, 
when  distended  with  superfluous  food,  they  simply 
blow  out  the  honey-dew  secreted  by  these  tubes  on 
to  the  leaves  below  them. 


i6 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


The  aphis  in  No.  6  is  represented  at  the  moment 
when  it  is  thus  ridding  itself  of  its  excessive  sweet- 
ness. But  honey-dew  is  sticky,  and  apt  to  get  in 
the  way  ;  it  may  clog  one's  legs,  or  interfere  with 
one's  proboscis  :  so  the  aphides  prefer  as  a  rule  to 
retain  it  prudently  till  some  friendly  animal,  with  a 
taste  for  sweets,  steps  in  to  relieve  them  of  the 
unpleasant  tension.  The  animal  which  especially 
performs  this  kind  office  for  the  rose -aphis  is  the 


H 


NO.    7. — AN    ANT    MILKING   A    ROSE-APHIS   OF    ITS   HONEY-DEW, 


garden  ant ;  and  No.  7  represents  such  an  ant  in 
the  very  act  of  tapping  and  caressing  an  aphis  with 
its  feelers,  in  order  to  make  her  yield  up  on  demand 
her  store  of  honey.  The  process  is  ordinarily 
described  as  "  milking." 

You  must  understand,  of  course,  that  neither 
aphis  nor  ant  is  actuated  by  purely  philanthropic 
considerations  ;  this  is  a  case  of  mutual  accommo- 


THE  Cows  THAT  ANTS   MILK  17 

dation.  The  aphis  wants  to  get  rid  of  a  trouble- 
some waste  product  which  is  apt  to  clog  it.  The 
ant  wants  to  secure  that  waste  product  as  a  valuable 
food-stuff.  Hence,  from  all  time,  an  offensive  and 
defensive  alliance  of  the  profoundest  type  has  been 
mutually  struck  up  between  ants  and  aphides. 
How  far  this  alliance  has  gone  is  truly  wonderful. 
The  ants  not  merely  "  milk "  the  aphides,  but  actu- 
ally collect  them  together  in  herds  and  keep  them 
in  parks  as  domestic  animals.  Nay,  more  ;  as  Sir 
John  Lubbock  has  pointed  out,  different  kinds  of 
ants  domesticate  different  breeds  of  aphides,  as  each 
is  suited  to  the  other's  conditions.  The  common 
black  garden  ant  attends  chiefly  to  the  aphides 
which  frequent  twigs  and  leaves,  such  as  this  very 
rose-aphis — for  the  black  ant  is  a  rover  and  a  good 
tree-climber ;  he  is  much  given  to  exploring  ex- 
peditions over  the  surface  of  plants  in  search  of 
honey,  and  he  is  not  particular  whether  he  happens 
to  gather  it  from  flowers  or  from  insects.  The 
brown  ant,  on  the  other  hand,  goes  in  rather  for 
such  species  of  aphides  as  frequent  the  crannies 
in  the  bark  of  trees  ;  while  the  little  yellow  ant, 
an  almost  subterranean  race,  living  underground 
among  the  grass  roots  in  meadows,  "  keeps  flocks 
and  herds"  (says  Lubbock)  "of  the  root-feeding 
aphides."  All  these  facts  you  can  verify  for  your- 
self with  very  little  trouble. 

It  is  most  interesting  to  watch  a  black  ant  on  the 
prowl  after  honey-dew.  He  is  evidently  led  on  to 
the  herd  by  smell,  for  he  mounts  the  stem  where 


1 8  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

the  aphides  live  in  a  business-like  way,  and  goes 
straight  to  the  point,  as  if  he  knew  what  he  was 
after.  When  he  finds  an  aphis  that  looks  likely, 
he  strokes  and  caresses  her  gently  with  his  antennae 
(as  you  see  in  the  sketch),  coaxing  her  to  yield  up 
the  coveted  nectar.  The  aphis,  on  her  side,  glad 
to  receive  his  polite  attentions,  and  accustomed  to 
the  signal,  exudes  a  clear  drop  of  her  surplus  sweet, 
which  the  ant  licks  up  with  its  jaws  greedily.  But 
ants  do  much  more  than  this  in  the  way  of  aiding 
and  protecting  their  "  cows."  They  really  appro- 
priate them.  Often  they  build,  with  mud,  covered 
ways  or  galleries  up  to  their  particular  herds,  and 
erect  earthen  cowsheds  above  them ;  they  also 
fight  in  defence  of  their  flocks,  as  a  Zulu  will  fight 
for  his  oxen,  or  an  Arab  for  his  camels.  Their 
foresight  is  almost  human  :  for  when  the  winter 
eggs  are  laid,  the  ants  will  transport  them  into 
their  nest,  to  keep  them  safe  against  frost ;  and 
when  summer  comes  again,  they  will  carry  them 
out  with  care,  and  place  them  in  the  sun  to  hatch 
on  the  proper  food-plant.  Could  man  himself 
show  greater  prudence  and  forethought  than  these 
mites  of  herdsmen  ? 

"The  eggs,"  says  Sir  John  Lubbock,  "are  laid 
early  in  October  on  the  food-plant  of  the  insect. 
They  are  of  no  direct  use  to  the  ants  ;  yet  they 
are  not  left  where  they  are  laid,  exposed  to  the 
severity  of  the  weather  and  to  innumerable  dangers, 
but  brought  into  the  nests,  and  tended  with  the 
utmost  care  through  the  long  winter  months  till 


THE  Cows  THAT  ANTS   MILK  19 

the  following  March,"  when  they  are  brought  out 
again  and  placed  on  their  special  food-plant. 

Lubbock  even  notes  that  ants  have  domesticated 
a  far  larger  variety  of  other  animals  than  we  our- 
selves have:  Our  list  includes  at  best  the  horse, 
the  dog,  the  cat,  the  cow,  the  camel,  the  sheep,  the 
llama,  the  alpaca,  the  goat,  the  hen,  the  duck,  the 
goose,  the  bee,  the  silkworm,  and  a  dozen  or  so 
others  ;  while  ants  have  domesticated  no  fewer  than 
584  different  kinds  of  crustaceans  and  insects,  in- 
cluding beetles,  flies,  and  mites,  some  of  which 
have  lived  for  so  many  generations  in  the  dark 
galleries  of  the  ant-hills  that  they  have  become 
totally  blind,  as  happens  almost  always,  in  the  long 
run,  with  underground  animals. 

During  the  live-long  summer  the  aphides  go  on, 
eating  and  drinking,  budding  out  new  broods 
with  inexhaustible  fertility.  They  settle  down 
calmly  on  the  spot  where  they  were  born,  they 
stick  to  it  for  life,  and  they  seldom  move  away 
from  their  native  twig  unless  somebody  pushes 
them,  for  though  they  have  legs,  they  do  not  care 
to  use  them  except  on  extreme  provocation.  But 
when  autumn  arrives  "a  strange  thing  happens." 
Broods  of  perfect  winged  males  and  wingless 
females  are  then  produced  ;  and  the  males  of  these, 
like  almost  all  other  insects,  take  a  marriage  flight, 
find  their  predestined  mates,  and  become  with 
them  the  parents  of  the  dormant  eggs  which  outlive 
the  year,  and  carry  on  the  race  to  the  succeeding 
summer.  While  warm  weather  lasts,  few  or  no 


20  FLASHLIGHTS  ON   NATURE 

males  are  budded  out ;  it  is  only  when  the  cold 
threatens  to  destroy  the  entire  colony  that  little 
husbands  are  born,  so  as  to  give  rise  to  eggs  which 
may  bridge  over  the  gulf  between  summer  and 
summer.  If  you  keep  the  insects  warm,  however, 
and  supply  them  with  abundant  food  (as  in  a  con- 
servatory), they  will  go  on  producing  imperfect 
females  and  fatherless  broods,  without  intermission, 
for  many  years  together.  The  egg-laying  genera- 
tion is  thus  shown  to  be  merely  a  device  for  meeting 
the  adverse  chances  of  winter  ;  the  budding  process 
suffices  well  enough,  as  long  as  warmth  and  food 
render  the  possibility  of  freezing  or  starvation  un- 
important. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  eggs  and  the  brood  born 
from  them  revert  to  the  earlier  habit  of  the  race, 
when  it  was  still  an  active,  free-flying  type,  before 
it  had  been  demoralised  by  acquiring  its  sedentary, 
parasitic  habits.  They  hatch  out  into  active  little  six- 
footed  or  six-legged  larvae,  which  again,  in  some  cases, 
give  rise  to  very  similar  chrysalis  forms,  and  finally 
develop  into  the  " viviparous"  or  budding  females. 
Whenever  a  species  earns  its  livelihood  with  too 
little  exertion,  it  invariably  degenerates,  and  often 
grows  small,  unintelligent,  and  vastly  prolific  ;  for 
superior  races  have  relatively  small  families,  while 
inferior  races  reproduce  by  the  million.  The  mites 
which  infest  cheese  and  other  food-stuffs  are  an 
exactly  analogous  case  to  that  of  the  aphides,  for 
they  are  degenerate  spiders,  grown  small  and  prolific 
through  the  excessive  ease  of  life  afforded  them  by 


THE  Cows  THAT  ANTS   MILK 


21 


always  settling  in  a  cheese,  all  ready-made  food  for 
them,  without  the  trouble  or  exertion  of  hunting. 

Creatures  which  reproduce  at  such  a  rate,  how- 
ever, invariably  pay  the  penalty  for  their  rapid 
increase  by  an  equally  rapid  and  enormous  death- 
rate  ;  were  it  otherwise,  the  offspring  of  a  single 
pair  of  codfish  (with  their  million  eggs)  would  soon 
turn  the  sea  into  one  solid  mass  of  cod ;  while  the 


NO.    8. — COMIC    ENEMY   WHO    POSES   AS   OLD-CLOTHES    MAN. 

descendants  of  a  single  viviparous  aphis  would 
cover  the  earth  with  a  ten  feet  thick  layer  of  teeming 
green-flies.  However,  Nature  has  remedies  in  store 
for  them.  Storms  of  rain  and  hail  kill  myriads  of 
aphides  ;  sudden  changes  of  weather  wilt  them  and 
nip  them  up  ;  innumerable  enemies  make  an  honest 
livelihood  out  of  them.  Another  of  these  ubiqui- 
tous foes  is  graphically  represented  in  No.  8 — the 


22  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

grub  of  the  lace-wing  fly,  a  sort  of  insect  old-clothes 
man,  which  covers  its  back  with  the  cast-off  skins 
of  its  discarded  victims.  This  is  a  clever  device  to 
enable  it  to  escape  observation.  The  larva,  which 
is  a  fat  and  juicy  morsel,  catches  aphides  wholesale, 
and  sucks  their  life-blood  ;  when  he  has  drained 
them  dry,  he  hoists  up  their  skins  on  to  his  back 
with  his  jaws,  by  way  of  overcoat.  Then  the  hooks 
or  spines  on  his  back  (shown  above)  hold  them  in 
place  for  a  time,  while  the  larva  bends  over  and 
spins  a  few  threads  of  web  across  them,  to  weave 
them  into  a  neat  and  compact  garment.  Thus 
securely  clad,  he  is  hidden  from  view  :  he  looks 
much  like  a  twig  covered  with  aphides,  and  avoids 
to  some  extent  the  too  pressing  attentions  of  his 
own  enemies.  Observe  in  this  sketch  the  charac- 
teristic unconcern  of  the  aphis  who  is  destined  to 
be  his  next  victim. 

Birds  also  destroy  large  numbers  of  aphides. 
You  can  see  them  picking  them  off  in  the  bean- 
fields  in  summer. 

It  is  lucky  for  us  that  these  insect  pests  have  so 
abundant  a  supply  of  natural  enemies ;  for  man,  by 
himself,  is  almost  powerless  against  them.  Strange 
to  say,  and  paradoxical  as  it  sounds,  it  is  the  smallest 
enemies  that  we  always  find  most  difficult  to  extir- 
pate. Lions  and  tigers  we  can  kill  off  without  diffi- 
culty ;  they  can  be  shot  and  exterminated.  Wolves 
and  hyenas  give  us  a  little  more  trouble  ;  while 
against  rabbits,  our  resources  are  taxed  to  the 
utmost.  A  plague  of  rats  and  mice,  or  of  tiny 


THE  Cows  THAT  ANTS   MILK  23 

field-voles,  can  hardly  be  combated  with  any  hope 
of  success ;  while  locusts  and  Colorado  beetles 
devastate  our  crops  with  practical  impunity. 

When  it  comes  to  aphides,  we  are  quite  unable 
to  cope  with  the  infinite  numbers  of  our  infini- 
tesimal foes ;  and  if  we  take  the  microscopic 
creatures  which  cause  cholera,  typhoid  fever,  and 
other  zymotic  diseases,  we  may  keep  out  of  their 
way,  it  is  true,  or  may  isolate  the  objects  in  which 
they  breed  and  store  their  germs,  but  we  are 
practically  without  means  to  kill  or  hurt  them. 
The  larger  the  foe,  the  more  easily  is  he  met ;  the 
smaller  our  enemy,  the  more  difficult  is  he  to 
extirpate.  We  killed  off  the  American  buffalo  (or 
bison)  in  a  single  generation  ;  a  thousand  years 
would  probably  fail  to  kill  off  the  insignificant  little 
aphides  that  infest  our  roses. 

In  the  case  of  one  member  of  the  family  at 
least  the  experiment  has  been  tried  on  a  gigantic 
scale  in  France,  and  as  yet  with  comparatively 
small  results.  For  the  dreaded  phylloxera  which 
attacks  the  vines  is,  in  fact,  an  aphis ;  and  though 
immense  rewards  have  been  offered  by  the  French 
Assembly  for  any  good  remedy  against  phylloxera, 
the  only  successful  plan  as  yet  proposed  has  been 
that  of  planting  healthier  and  sturdier  American 
vines,  which  resist  the  little  beast  a  good  deal  better 
than  the  effete  and  worn-out  European  species. 
But  many  other  members  of  the  family  wage  war 
with  distinguished  success  against  the  British  farmer. 
The  little  black  "colliers"  which  attack  our  bean 


24  FLASHLIGHTS  ON   NATURE 

crops  are  a  species  of  aphis  ;  so  are  the  "  blight " 
of  apple-trees,  the  "fly"  on  turnips,  and  the  most 
familiar  parasites  of  the  hop,  the  cabbage,  the  pear, 
and  the  potato.  It  is  well  for  us,  therefore,  that  the 
aphides  have  roused  against  them  so  many  natural 
enemies  among  the  birds  and  insects,  or  our  crops 
would  be  destroyed  by  their  persistent  efforts.  The 
ichneumon-flies  alone  kill  their  millions  yearly;  and 
the  lady-birds  well  deserve  their  popular  esteem 
for  the  good  they  do  in  keeping  down  the  ever- 
increasing  numbers  of  these  voracious  insects. 

Yet,  mischievous  as  they  are,  the  tiny  green 
aphides  are  well  deserving  of  study,  both  for  their 
personal  beauty  and  their  singular  life -history. 
Everybody  can  observe  them,  because  they  are 
practically  everywhere.  If  you  have  a  garden,  they 
swarm  on  every  bush.  If  you  grow  flowers  in 
your  window,  they  live  in  every  pot.  If  you  con- 
tent yourself  with  an  occasional  bunch  of  roses  or 
geraniums,  you  will  find  them,  if  you  look,  sucking 
away  contentedly  on  the  leaves  of  the  rosebuds. 
Even  in  London  parks  or  squares  you  may  watch 
the  industrious  ants  creeping  slowly  up  the  stems 
to  milk  their  wee  green  cows  ;  you  may  see  with 
the  naked  eye,  or  still  better  with  a  pocket  lens,  the 
grateful  aphis  exude  a  tiny  drop  of  limpid  honey 
from  its  translucent  tubes,  and  the  ant  lick  it  up 
with  unmistakable  gusto.  Go  out  into  the  parks  or 
gardens  and  examine  it  for  yourself ;  for  every  one 
of  the  facts  I  have  mentioned  in  this  paper  can  be 
verified  with  ease,  if  only  you  have  patience. 


II 

A  PLANT   THAT   MELTS   ICE 

IF  you  have  ever  visited  the  Alps  in  early 
spring,  you  will  know  well  by  sight  the  dainty 
little  nodding  bells  of  the  alpine  soldanella 
— twin  flowers  on  one  stalk,  like  fairy  tocsins, 
which  push  their  heads  boldly  through  the  ice 
of  the  neve,  and  form  a  border  of  blue  blossoms 
on  the  edge  of  the  snow-sheet.  Most  people,  to 
be  sure,  visit  the  Alps  in  August  ;  and  they  go  too 
late.  Autumn  is  the  time  when  heather  purples 
our  bleak  northern  moors,  but  when  the  central 
mountain  chain  of  Europe,  so  glorious  in  April, 
has  become  comparatively  green  and  flowerless. 
If  you  wish  to  see  what  nature  can  do  in  the  way 
of  rock-gardens,  however,  you  should  go  to  Switzer- 
land in  early  spring.  It  is  then  that  blue  gentians 
spread  vast  girdles  of  blossom  over  the  alpine  pas- 
tures ;  then  that  the  green  slopes  on  the  mountain 
sides  are  yellowed  by  globe-flowers  ;  then  that  the 
poet's  narcissus  stars  with  its  white  petals  and 
scents  with  its  sweet  perfume  the  rich  meadows 
on  the  spurs  of  the  lesser  ranges.  Higher  up, 
sheets  of  creeping  rock-plants,  close  clinging  to 
the  uneven  surface,  fall  in  great  cataracts  of  pink 


26  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

and  blue  over  the  steep  declivities.  As  the  snow 
melts,  upward,  the  flowers  open  in  zones,  one  after 
another,  upon  the  mountain  sides,  so  that  you  can 
mark  your  ascent  by  the  variations  in  the  flora, 
and  the  different  successive  stages  of  development 
reached  by  the  most  persistent  kinds  at  various 
levels. 

There  is  one  adventurous  little  plant,  however, 
among  these  competing  kinds,  which  in  its  eager- 
ness to  make  the  most  of  the  short  alpine  summer 
does  not  even  wait,  like  its  neighbours,  for  the 
melting  of  the  snow,  but,  vastly  daring,  begins  to 
grow  under  the  surface  of  the  ice-sheet,  and  melts 
a  way  up  for  itself  by  internal  heat,  like  a  vegetable 
furnace.  It  may  fairly  be  called  a  slow-combustion 
stove,  not  figuratively,  but  literally.  It  burns  itself 
up  in  order  to  melt  the  ice  above  it.  This  won- 
derful plant  is  the  alpine  soldanella,  the  hardest 
and  one  of  the  prettiest  of  mountain  flowers  ;  it 
opens  its  fringed  and  pensile  blue  blossoms  in  the 
very  midst  of  the  snow,  often  showing  its  slender 
head  above  a  thin  layer  of  ice,  where  it  fear- 
lessly displays  its  two  sister  bells  among  the  frozen 
sheet  which  still  surrounds  its  stem  in  the  most 
incredible  fashion. 

So  much  every  tourist  to  the  Alps  in  May 
must  have  noticed  for  himself,  for  whenever  he 
reaches  the  edge  of  the  melting  ice-sheet  he  can 
see  the  ice  pierced  by  innumerable  twin  pairs 
of  these  dainty  and  seemingly  delicate  blossoms. 
Comparatively  few  observers,  however,  have  pro- 
ceeded to  notice  that  the  soldanella,  fragile  as  it 


A   PLANT  THAT   MELTS  ICE  27 

is,  actually  forces  itself  up  through  a  solid  coat 
of  ice,  not  exactly  by  hewing  its  way,  but  by 
melting  a  path  for  itself  in  the  crystal  sheet  above 
it.  Yet  such ,  is  really  the  case  ;  it  warms  the 
ice  as  it  goes.  The  buds  begin  to  grow  on  the 
frozen  soil  before  the  ground  is  bare,  under  the 
hardened  and  compressed  snow  of  the  nevl — 
which  at  its  edge  is  always  ice-like  in  texture. 
They  then  bore  their  way  up  by  internal  heat 
(like  that  of  an  animal)  through  the  sheet  that 
covers  them  ;  and  they  often  expand  their  delicate 
blue  or  white  blossoms,  with  the  scalloped  edges, 
in  a  cup-shaped  hollow  above,  while  a  sheet  of 
refrozen  ice,  through  which  they  have  warmed 
a  tunnel  or  canal  for  themselves,  still  surrounds 
their  stems  and  hides  their  roots  and  their  flattened 
foliage.  This  is  so  strange  a  miracle  of  nature 
that  it  demands  some  explanation  ;  the  method 
by  which  the  soldanella.  obtains  its  results  is  no 
less  marvellous  than  the  results  themselves  which 
it  produces. 

The  winter  leaves  of  soldanella,  which  hibernate 
under  the  snow  just  as  truly  as  the  squirrel  or 
the  dormouse  hibernates  in  its  nest,  are  large, 
leathery,  tough,  and  evergreen.  They  are,  in 
fact,  just  living  reservoirs  of  fuel  (like  the  fat  of 
the  dormant  bear),  which  the  plant  lays  by  during 
the  heat  of  summer  in  order  to  burn  it  up  again 
in  spring  for  the  use  of  its  flowers.  When  I  use 
this  language,  you  will  think  at  first  I  am  speaking 
figuratively.  But  I  am  not ;  I  mean  it  in  just 
as  literal  a  sense  as  when  I  say  that  the  coal  in 


28  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

the  tender  of  a  locomotive  serves  as  fuel  for  the 
engine,  or  that  the  corn  in  the  bin  of  a  stable 
serves  as  fuel  to  heat  the  horse's  body.  These 
leaves  contain  material  laid  by  for  burning  ;  and 
it  is  by  burning  that  material  up  at  the  proper 
period  that  the  soldanella  manages  to  melt  its 
way  out  of  the  wintry  ice-sheet,  and  so  to  steal 
a  march  upon  competing  species. 

The  process  requires  explanation,  I  admit  ;  let 
us  try  to  understand  it.  Everybody  knows,  as 
a  matter  of  common  experience,  that  animals  are 
warmer  in  winter  than  the  air  which  surrounds 
them  ;  warm-blooded  animals,  that  is  to  say,  which 
form  the  only  class  most  people  trouble  about. 
Not  everybody  knows,  however,  that  the  same 
thing  is  more  or  less  true  of  plants  as  well — 
that  many  plants  have  the  power  of  evolving 
heat  for  themselves  in  considerable  quantities. 
But  this  is  actually  true  ;  indeed,  all  growing 
parts  of  a  stem  or  young  leaf-shoot  must  neces- 
sarily be  slightly  warmer  than  the  air  around 
them.  For,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it, 
whence  do  animals  derive  their  heat  ?  "  From 
the  oxidation  of  their  food,"  the  small  boy  of 
the  day,  crammed  full  of  knowledge,  will  tell 
you,  glibly.  And  what  do  you  mean  by  oxida- 
tion but  very  slow  burning  ?  You  may  take  a 
load  of  hay,  and  set  a  match  to  it,  and  it  will 
burn  at  once  quickly,  by  combining  with  the 
oxygen  of  the  air  in  the  open  ;  or  you  may,  if 
you  choose,  give  it  to  a  pair  of  horses  to  eat 
instead,  and  then  it  will  burn  up  slowly,  by 


A  PLANT  THAT  MELTS   ICE  29 

combining  with  the  oxygen  of  the  air  in  their 
bodies.  Lungs,  in  fact,  are  mere  devices  for  taking 
in  fresh  oxygen,  which  then  combines  with  the 
food  or  fuel  in  the  blood  of  the  animal. 

A  century  ago,  Count  Rumford  pointed  out  that 
you  might  burn  your  hay  as  you  chose,  either 
in  a  horse  or  in  a  steam-engine ;  and  that  in 
either  case  you  produced  alike  heat  and  motion. 
What  we  call  fuel -is  just  carbon  and  hydrogen, 
separated  from  oxygen  ;  and  what  we  call  burning 
or  combustion  is  just  the  re-union  of  the  oxygen 
with  the  other  elements,  accompanied  by  a  giving- 
off  of  heat  equivalent  in  amount  to  that  originally 
required  in  order  to  separate  them. 

Now,  the  foodstuffs  of  most  animals  are  plants 
or  parts  of  plants,  especially  seeds  or  grains,  as 
well  as  the  rich  stores  of  starch  or  oil  laid  by  in 
roots,  bulbs,  and  tubers.  These  are  all  of  them 
reservoirs  of  food  or  fuel,  produced  by  the  plant 
for  its  own  future  growth,  and  meant  hereafter  to 
sprout  or  germinate.  All  seeds,  when  they  begin 
to  quicken,  unite  with  oxygen  and  evolve  heat  ; 
and  this  heat  is  just  the  same  in  nature,  whether  it 
happen  to  be  set  free  within  or  without  an  animal 
body.  If  you  give  an  ox  corn,  he  will  oxidise  it 
internally  and  warm  his  own  body  with  it  ;  but  if 
you  let  it  germinate,  it  will  oxidise  itself,  and  so 
produce  a  very  small  but  slow  fire,  which  warms 
both  the  corn  and  the  space  around  it.  Similarly, 
all  growing  shoots  combine  with  oxygen,  and, 
therefore,  rise  in  temperature.  In  early  spring, 
when  the  ground  just  teems  with  sprouting  seeds 


30  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

and  swelling  buds,  with  growing  bulbs  or  shooting 
tubers,  the  temperature  of  the  soil  is  sensibly 
raised  ;  and  this  very  heat,  evolved  by  germination, 
becomes  itself  in  turn  a  cause  of  more  germina- 
tion ;  each  seed  and  root  and  bulb  and  sucker 
helps  to  warm  and  start  all  the  others.  Spring 
largely  depends  upon  the  warmth  thus  produced. 
The  earth,  during  this  orgy  of  growth,  is  warmer 
by  a  good  deal  than  the  air  about  it  ;  warmer  even 
than  it  is  in  summer  weather — indeed,  were  it  not 
for  the  number  of  plants  which  thus  start  growing 
at  once,  growth  would  be  almost  impossible  in 
very  cold  countries.  Like  roosting  fowls,  they 
warm  one  another. 

You  think,  however,  the  amount  of  heat  that 
can  be  thus  evolved  must  be  very  insignificant. 
By  no  means.  Take  an  example  in  point.  What 
do  we  mean  by  malting  ?  We  collect  together  a 
number  of  seeds  or  grains  of  barley,  we  wet  them 
thoroughly,  and  allow  them  to  begin  germinating. 
Each  grain  individually  gives  out  only  a  small 
amount  of  heat,  it  is  true  :  but  when  many  of 
them  lie  together,  the  total  volume  of  heat  pro- 
duced is  very  great,  and  the  amount  would  be 
even  greater  if  it  were  not  artificially  checked  at 
a  certain  stage  :  for  the  maltster  does  not  wish  his 
malt  to  be  "  over-heated."  Malt,  then,  is  nothing 
more  than  sprouting  barley  ;  and  the  heat  it  begets 
in  the  process  of  malting  shows  us  very  clearly 
how  much  warmth  exists  in  sprouting  seeds,  or  in 
the  growing  portions  of  young  plants,  buds,  shoots, 
and  tubers. 


A  PLANT  THAT  MELTS  ICE  31 

At  the  risk  of  seeming  tedious  in  this  prelimi- 
nary explanation,  I  must  also  add  that  flower-buds 
and  flower-stems  which  grow  and  open  very  rapidly 
must  similarly  use  up  oxygen  in  their  growth,  and 
therefore  distinctly  rise  in  temperature.  In  a  very 
few  large  and  conspicuous  flowers,  such  as  the  big 
white  calla  lily,  this  rise  in  temperature  during  the 
flowering  period  can  be  measured  even  with  an 
ordinary  thermometer.  No  bud  can  open  without 
giving  out  heat  ;  and  the  amount  of  heat  is  some- 
times considerable. 

And  now,  I  hope,  we  are  in  a  position  to 
understand  how  soldanella  acts,  and  why  it  does 
so.  It  is  a  plant  which  grows  under  peculiarly 
trying  conditions.  It  has  to  eke  out  a  livelihood 
in  the  mountain  belt,  just  below  the  snow-line  ; 
and  it  is  a  low-growing  type,  which  must  flower 
early,  or  else  it  would  soon  be  overshadowed  by 
taller  rivals.  For  growth  is  rapid  in  the  Alps, 
once  the  snow  has  melted.  Soldanella  has  thus 
to  blossom,  and  to  secure  the  aid  of  its  insect 
fertilisers,  at  the  precise  moment  when  they  emerge 
from  their  cocoons  in  the  first  warm  days  of  the 
short  alpine  summer.  If  it  waited  later  it  would 
be  overtopped  and  obscured  in  a  very  few  days 
by  the  dense  and  rapid  growth  of  waving  grasses, 
and  aspiring  globe  -  flowers,  and  long  -  stalked, 
bulbous  plants  that  crowd  all  around  it.  So 
the  soldanella  seizes  its  one  chance  in  life  at  the 
earliest  possible  moment,  and  makes  haste  to  pierce 
its  way  through  the  solid  ice-sheet,  while  lazier 
rivals  passively  await  its  melting.  That  alone  has 


32  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

secured  its  survival  and  success  in  the  crowded 
world  of  the  alpine  pastures.  For  you  must 
not  forget  that  while  to  you  and  me  the  Alps 
are  an  unpeopled  solitude,  to  the  alpine  plants 
they  are  a  veritable  London  of  competing  life- 
types. 

The  canny  plant  lays  its  plans  deep,  too,  and 
begins  well  beforehand.  It  has  made  prepara- 
tions. All  the  previous  summer  it  has  been 
spreading  its  round  leaves  to  the  mountain  sun, 
and  laying  by  material  for  next  year's  flowering 
season.  Leaves,  you  know,  are  the  mouths  and 
stomachs  of  plants  ;  and  the  soldanella  has  a  type 
of  leaves  admirably  adapted  to  its  peculiar  pur- 
pose :  expanded  in  the  sunlight,  they  eat  carbon 
and  hydrogen  the  live-long  summer,  and  turn  the 
combined  oxygen  loose  upon  the  air  under  the 
influence  of  the  sun.  By  the  time  winter  comes, 
they  are  thick  and  leathery,  filled  with  fuel  for 
the  spring,  and,  of  course,  evergreen.  They  have 
also  long  stalks,  which  enable  them  during  the 
summer  to  stretch  up  to  the  light  ;  but  in  autumn 
they  descend  and  flatten  themselves  against  the 
soil,  so  as  not  to  be  crushed  by  the  snows  of 
winter.  The  first  of  my  illustrations  (No.  i) 
shows  a  group  of  these  fat  leaves,  seen  from 
above,  and  flattened  against  the  ground  in  ex- 
pectation of  the  snow-sheet. 

The  material  laid  by  in  the  thickened  leaves 
consists  of  starches,  protoplasm,  and  other  rich 
foodstuffs.  The  snow  falls,  and  the  leaves,  pro- 
tected by  their  hard  and  leathery  covering,  re- 


A  PLANT  THAT  MELTS   ICE 


33 


main  unhurt  by  it.  The  food  and  fuel  they  have 
gathered  is  stored  partly  in  the  foliage  and  partly 
in  the  swollen  underground  root-stock.  All  winter 
through,  the  plant  is  thus  hidden  under  a  compact 
blanket  of  snow,  which  becomes  gradually  hard 
and  ice-like  by  pressure.  But  as  soon  as  the 
spring  sun  begins  to  melt  the  surface  at  the  lower 


IL«    -£&?.*&•*.  V~T%.  -,-..:*S8Sfe. 


NO.  I.— LEAVES  OF  SOLDANELLA  IN  AUTUMN,  FAT  WITH  FUEL, 
SEEN  FROM  ABOVE. 

edge  of  the  sheet,  water  trickles  down  through 
cracks  in  the  ice,  and  sets  the  root-stock  budding. 
It  produces,  in  fact,  the  very  same  effect  as  the 
water  which  we  pour  upon  malting  barley  in 
order  to  make  it  germinate.  And  the  same  result 
follows,  though  here  more  definitely,  for  the  sol- 

c 


34 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


danella  has  collected  its  material  deliberately  as 
fuel,  and  uses  it  up  on  purpose  to  melt  its  passage. 
It  absorbs  oxygen  from  the  air  below  the  snow, 
combines  it  with  the  fuels  in  its  own  substance, 
evolves  heat  from  their  combination,  and  begins  to 
send  up  its  nodding  flower-buds  through  the  icy 
•  -  -/'•••^^^^  sheet  that  spreads 

above  it. 

The      warmth 

ill    the    plant    obtains 

,j  i    by      this      curious 

o  process    of  slow 

internal  combus- 
tion it  first  em- 
ploys to  melt  a 
little  round  hole 
in  the  ice  for  its 
arched  flower- 
buds  (No.  2).  At 
the  beginning,  the 
hollow  which  is 
formed  above  each 
pair  of  buds  is 
hemispherical  or 
dome-shaped ;  the 
stem  pushes  its 

way  up  through  a  dome  of  air  enclosed  in  the 
ice ;  and  the  water  it  liberates  trickles  down  to  the 
root,  thus  helping  to  supply  moisture  for  further 
growth  with  its  consequent  heating.  But  by-and- 
by  the  stem  lengthens,  and  the  bud  is  raised  to 
a  considerable  height  by  its  continuous  growth. 


NO.  2.— BUD  BEGINNING  TO  MELT  ITS 
WAY  UP  THROUGH  ICE  IN  A  DOME- 
SHAPED  HOLLOW. 


A   PLANT  THAT   MELTS   ICE 


35 


Still,  so  slight  is  the  total  quantity  of  heat  the  poor 
little    plant  can  evolve  with  all  its  efforts,  that  by 
the  time  the  stem  is  an  inch  or  two  long,  the  lower 
part  of  the  tunnel  has  curiously  frozen  over  again, 
by  the  process  which  Tyndall  called  "  regelation," 
and  whose  impor- 
tance  in    glacier 
action  he  so  fully 
demonstrated. 
Inthisstage,then,     f 
the  melted  space     fr  ' 
is    no    longer    a 
dome ;  it  assumes    |E^E;E::E§:;;::  :;; 
the    form    of    a 
little   balloon   or 
round  bubble  of 
air,   surrounding 
the    flower-bud. 
At  the  same  time, 
the  ice  beneath, 
having    frozen 
again,     almost 
touches  the  stem, 
so  that  the   bud 
seems  to  occupy 
a     small,      clear 

area  of  its  own  in  the  midst  of  the  sheet,  with 
ice  above,  below,  and  all  around  it  (No.  3). 
You  would  say  that  growth  under  such  circum- 
stances, in  almost  icy-cold  air,  was  impossible — but 
if  you  examine  the  ice-sheet  at  the  edge  of  the 
neve,  you  will  find  it  studded  by  hundreds  of  such 


NO.  3. — BUD,  SOMEWHAT  LATER,  EN- 
CLOSED IN  A  GLOBE  OF  AIR  WITHIN 
THE  ICE-SHEET. 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


bubbles,  each  enclosing  an  uninjured  soldanella 
bud  in  its  centre.  The  reason  is  that  the  heat 
from  the  flower  keeps  the  enclosed  air  just  above 
freezing-point  ;  and  so  long  as  it  is  not  actually 
frozen  soldanella  is  indifferent  to  the  cold  of  its 

surroundings. 

Gradually,  in 
this  way,  the  little 
buds  manage  to 
bore  their  way  to 
the  surface  and 
to  the  sunshine 
on  the  outside  of 
the  ice-sheet.  At 
last  the  stalk  melts 
its  path  out,  and 
a  flower  appears 
on  the  top,  in  the 
centre  of  a  small 
cup-shaped  or 
saucer-shaped  de- 
pression (No.  4). 
The  exquisite 
blue  bells  are 
thus  seen  bloom- 
ing in  profusion, 

apparently  out  of  the  ice  itself,  or  as  if  stuck  into 
it.  Unless  you  looked  close,  and  noticed  that  their 
stems  came  from  the  ground  beneath,  you  might 
even  imagine  they  were  rooted  in  the  crystal  mass 
of  the  neve.  The  edge  of  the  snow-field  in  early 
spring  is  often  pierced  and  riddled  by  hundreds 


NO.  4.  — FLOWER  REACHING  THE  SUR- 
FACE OF  THE  ICE  AND  OPENING  IN 
A  CUP-SHAPED  DEPRESSION. 


A  PLANT  THAT  MELTS  ICE 


37 


of  such  soldanella  borings  ;  others  above  are  in 
process  of  formation  ;  and  if  you  cut  a  piece  open 
you  will  see  inside  how  each  is  produced,  with 
its  narrow  tunnel  below,  its  balloon  in  the  centre, 
or  later,  its  saucer-shaped  depression  on  the  sur- 
face. Moreover, 
if  you  look  at 
the  foliage  on 
the  bare  ground 
beneath,  you  will 
find  that,  when 
the  flowers  open, 
the  leaves  are 
no  longer  thick 
and  swollen.  All 
the  fuel  they  con- 
tained has  by 
this  time  been 
burned  up  for 
warmth  ;  all  the 
formative  mate- 
rial has  been  duly 
employed  in  mak- 
ing the  buds  or 
blossoms,  with  the 
Stems  that  raised 
them  ;  and  no- 
thing now  remains  but  drained  and  flaccid  skele- 
tons from  which  every  particle  of  living  matter  has 
been  withdrawn  and  utilised.  Later  on  new  leaves 
are  produced  in  turn  from  the  root-stock,  after  the 
ice  has  melted  ;  and  these  new  leaves,  raising 


NO.  5. — FLOWER  VISITED  BY  A  BEE,  WHICH 
FERTILISES   IT. 


38  FLASHLIGHTS  ON   NATURE 

themselves  on  their  long  stalks,  and  catching  the 
sunlight,  begin  afresh  to  accumulate  material  for 
next  year's  growth  and  next  year's  burning. 

But  why  do  the  flowers  want  so  much  to  reach 
the  open  air  at  all  ?  Why  should  they  not  blossom 
contentedly  under  the  enclosing  ice-sheet?  A  glance 
at  No.  6  will  serve  to  explain  the  reason.  Flowers, 
after  all,  are  mere  devices  for  the  fertilisation  of  the 
fruit  ;  it  is  the  seeds  and  the  next  generation  that  the 
plant  itself  is  mainly  thinking  about.  The  blossoms 
of  soldanella  are  noticeable  to  us  lordly  human 
beings  chiefly  because  they  are  so  pretty  ;  they 
have  a  delicate  blue  or  violet  corolla,  exquisitely 
vandyked  at  the  edge,  and  divided  (on  a  closer 
view)  into  five  more  or  less  conspicuous  lobes  ; 
so  it  is  their  colour  and  their  daintiness  that  make 
us  so  much  admire  them.  But  to  soldanella  itself 
— which,  after  all,  has  to  earn  its  livelihood  with 
difficulty  on  a  stern  and  rocky  soil — this  beauty 
that  charms  us  is  a  mere  matter  of  advertisement. 
The  plant  wants  its  blossoms  to  attract  the  early 
spring  bees  and  honey-sucking  flies,  which  carry 
pollen  from  head  to  head,  and  so  fertilise  its  seeds 
for  it.  And  fertilisation,  to  the  practical-minded 
plant,  is  the  whole  root  of  the  question.  It  cares 
no  more  for  the  beauty  of  its  flowers  in  themselves 
than  the  British  manufacturer  of  cocoa  or  soap 
cares  for  the  gorgeous  colours  and  striking  designs 
he  lavishes  on  his  advertisements.  "  Use  Jones's 
Detergent "  is  the  key-note  of  the  poster.  The 
object  of  an  advertisement  is  to  catch  the  eye  and 
secure  the  money  of  customers ;  the  object  of 


A  PLANT  THAT  MELTS   ICE 


39 


the  flowers,  for  all  their  beauty,  is  just  equally  to 
catch  the  eye  and  secure  the  visits  of  the  fertilis- 
ing insects. 

No.  5  shows  how  all  this  is  managed.     At  the 


NO.  6. — GROUP   OF   FLOWERS    IN    DIFFERENT   STAGES    PROTRUDING 
THROUGH    THE    ICE-SHEET. 


very  same  time  that  the  soldanella  raises  its  timid 
flowers,  the  bees  and  flies  a  little  lower  down  the 
mountain  sides  are  just  escaping  from  their  cocoons 
as  full-fledged  winged  insects.  It  is  for  their  sakes 
alone  that  the  pensive  blossoms  tint  themselves  in 


40  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

blue  or  violet,  for  you  will  find  throughout  nature 
that  blue  is  the  true  bee  colour  ;  and  flowers  that 
depend  most  for  fertilisation  on  bees  or  their  allies 
are  almost  always  decked  out  in  blue  or  purple. 
If  you  examine  a  soldanella  closely,  too,  you  will 
see  that  all  its  parts  are  exactly  adapted  to  the 
shape  and  organs  of  its  most  frequent  visitor,  here 
represented  in  the  act  of  rifling  its  honey.  Its 
bell-shaped  blossoms  just  fit  the  insect  in  size  ;  its 
stamens  shed  pollen  just  where  his  hairy  body  is 
adapted  to  receive  it  ;  its  sensitive  stigma  is  so 
arranged  that  he  rubs  the  golden  grains  off  on  the 
receptive  surface  of  the  next  flower  he  visits.  Then 
the  little  capsules  swell,  and  the  seeds  ripen  ;  and 
the  happy  soldanella,  becoming  a  fertile  mother  of 
future  generations,  has  fulfilled  the  main  purpose 
of  its  stormy  existence. 

Sometimes,  however,  the  ice-sheet  above  is  too 
thick  to  pierce  ;  and  then  the  bud,  after  making 
manful  efforts  to  melt  its  way  out  to  the  open  air, 
is  forced  to  give  up  the  attempt  in  despair,  and 
unfold  its  petals  within  its  icy  cavern.  In  that 
case,  of  course,  no  insect  can  visit  it ;  and  such 
cloistered  blossoms  are  therefore  obliged  to  have 
recourse  to  the  inferior  expedient  of  self-fertilisa- 
tion. I  say  inferior,  because  all  higher  plants  strive 
as  far  as  possible  to  produce  seedlings  which  shall 
be  the  offspring  of  a  distinct  father  and  mother. 
The  last  illustration  (No.  7)  shows  two  flowers 
which  have  lengthened  their  stalk  in  vain  to  the 
furthest  point  for  which  they  possess  material,  but 
have  failed  to  melt  a  way  out  of  the  solid  ice-sheet. 


A   PLANT  THAT   MELTS   ICE 


They  are  therefore  driven  to  curl  round  the  tips  of 
their  stamens  and  fertilise  themselves — a  process 
which  almost  always  produces  inferior  seeds  and 
very  weak  seed- 
lings. It  is  in 
order  to  prevent 
such  disastrous 
results  on  a  large 
scale,  and  to  avoid 
the  evils  of  con- 
stant "  breeding 
in  and  in,"  that 
soldanella  has  in- 
vented its  curious 
device  for  push- 
ing its  way  boldly 
through  its  native 
ice-sheet  to  the 
sky  and  the  in- 
sects. It  goes 
there,  not  to  look 
beautiful  for  you 
and  me,  but  to 
secure  the  aid  of 
its  established 
pollen-carriers. 

You  must  not 
suppose,  however, 

that  in  doing  all  this  the  soldanella  is  displaying  any 
extraordinary  amount  of  unusual  originality.  Its 
speciality  consists  merely  in  the  somewhat  abnormal 
volume  of  heat  which  it  generates.  A  great  many 


NO.  7- — PAIR  OF  FLOWERS  WHICH  HAVE 
FAILED  TO  REACH  THE  SURFACE,  OPEN- 
ING IN  A  SPHERE-SHAPED  HOLLOW. 


42  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

plants,  indeed,  proceed  much  as  the  soldanella 
does  in  the  matter  of  laying  by  materials  for  future 
growth  in  the  leaves,  and  using  these  up  in  the  act 
of  flowering.  Take,  for  example,  the  famous  and 
often  somewhat  exaggerated  case  of  the  so-called 
"  aloe,"  or  American  agave.  It  is  commonly  said 
that  "  the  flowering  of  an  aloe "  takes  place  but 
once  in  a  hundred  years.  This  is  a  poetical  fiction. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  agave  flowers  on  an  average 
after  fifteen  or  twenty  years,  and  then  dies  down 
utterly.  Every  visitor  to  Italy  or  the  Riviera  knows 
this  huge  plant  well — a  gigantic  house-leek  in  form, 
with  its  big  spiny  leaves  and  its  points,  sharp  as  a 
needle,  which  defend  it  as  by  a  bristling  row  of 
bayonets.  Now,  the  agave  lays  by  its  material  for 
future  growth  in  the  thickened  base  or  lower  portion 
of  its  leaves  ;  it  thus  forms  a  huge  rosette,  very 
much  swrollen  and  enlarged  at  the  bottom.  For 
years  it  goes  on  with  exemplary  patience,  collecting 
supplies  for  its  one  act  of  flowering  ;  then  at  last, 
feeling  its  time  has  come, 'it  suddenly  sends  up  a 
huge  stalk,  or  trunk,  like  a  vast  candelabrum,  fifteen, 
twenty,  or  even  thirty  feet  high,  and  supporting  at 
its  top  a  great  bunch  of  big  yellow  blossoms.  This 
enormous  stem,  with  its  colossal  cluster  of  branch- 
ing blossoms,  takes  only  a  few  weeks  to  grow  ;  and 
as  it  rises  and  flowers,  or  still  more  as  the  immense 
capsules  ripen  their  seeds,  the  bases  of  the  leaves, 
once  swollen  and  thick,  become  by  degrees  flaccid 
and  empty.  The  stem  and  blossoms  have  drained 
them  dry.  At  last,  as  the  seeds  fall,  the  whole 
plant  dies  away,  having  used  itself  up  for  ever  in 


A  PLANT  THAT  MELTS  ICE  43 

its  one  great  act  of  flowering,  just  as  the  egg-laying 
rose-aphis  uses  itself  up  in  its  orgy  of  motherhood. 

Now,  this  is  much  the  same  as  the  way  in  which 
soldanella  behaves,  except  that  soldanella  continues 
to  flower,  spring  after  spring,  for  many  years  to- 
gether. It  does  not  exhaust  itself  in  a  single 
blossoming.  Otherwise,  the  two  plants,  though 
so  different  in  size,  behave  in  much  the  same 
general  fashion.  For  agave  must  necessarily 
evolve  a  great  deal  of  heat  during  its  rapid  flower- 
ing period  ;  but  this  heat  is  useless  to  it,  as  heat, 
just  as  the  heat  we  evolve  in  running  a  race  is, 
as  such,  of  no  advantage  to  us.  The  main  differ- 
ence here  is  that  soldanella  has  need  of  the  heat 
and  employs  it  deliberately  for  its  own  purposes. 
In  the  struggle  for  existence,  every  point  of  'advan- 
tage any  creature  possesses  must  tell  in  its  favour, 
and  the  soldanella  has  thus  been  enabled  to  hold 
its  own  bravely  in  the  intermediate  belt  at  the 
margin  of  the  ice-field.  But  its  limits  are  narrow. 
In  the  open  ground  it  is  soon  lived  down  by  more 
hardy  kinds,  which  rise  higher  into  the  air  ;  its 
range  is  almost  entirely  bounded  by  a  narrow  belt 
just  where  the  ice  is  melting.  Above  that  point  it 
cannot  grow  ;  below  it  taller  enemies  soon  oust 
and  dispossess  it.  It  utilises  its  short  time  between 
these  two  impossibilities. 

Strange  as  it  sounds,  too,  the  ice  itself  acts  as  a 
sort  of  protective  blanket  or  coverlet  to  the  trust- 
ful soldanella.  Only  a  plant  that  could  pierce  the 
ice  could  ever  have  hit  upon  such  a  paradoxical 
mode  of  warming  itself  by  its  own  internal  com- 


44  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

bustion.  If  a  herb  that  flowers  in  the  open  were 
to  make  experiments  in  warming  itself  in  the  same 
manner,  its  attempt  would  necessarily  fail,  because 
as  fast  as  it  heated  the  air  the  wind  would  blow 
the  heated  portion  away,  and  the  plant  would 
therefore  derive  no  benefit  from  its  expenditure  of 
fuel.  But  we  all  know  how  Esquimaux  can  live 
in  a  snow  hut,  keeping  it  warm  inside  by  their 
own  breath  and  the  heat  of  their  bodies.  It  is 
just  the  same  in  principle  with  the  soldanella's  ice- 
cave.  The  little  dome  or  cavern  gets  warmed 
within  by  the  respiration  of  the  flower-bud  ;  and 
the  heat  thus  produced  is  retained  within  the  walls 
of  the  cavity.  It  is  almost  as  though  a  mouse  or 
other  small  animal  were  to  try  to  bore  a  path  for 
itself  through  an  ice-barrier,  not  by  gnawing  the 
ice,  but  by  breathing  upon  it  slowly  till  it  melted. 
See,  then,  how  absolutely  the  soldanella  behaves 
like  a  man  who  is  making  a  conservatory.  It  lays 
by  fuel  for  the  stove  in  its  leaves  to  keep  its  flower- 
buds  warm  and  to  force  them  in  spring,  at  a  time 
when  they  could  not  blossom  without  the  artificial 
heat  thus  supplied  them.  It  keeps  in  this  heat 
within  a  transparent  covering,  the  doors  of  which 
are  never  opened.  As  for  light,  that  reaches  it 
through  the  crystal  summit.  But  it  employs  the 
heat  also  to  bore  its  way  out  ;  and,  as  its  ultimate 
object  is  to  get  its  young  seeds  fertilised,  it  finally 
pushes  its  flowers  out  into  the  open  air,  where  they 
may  receive  the  attentions  of  the  fertilising  in- 
sects— just  as  the  gardener  does,  without  knowing 
why,  when  he  wishes  seed  set.  The  pendent  bell- 


A  PLANT  THAT   MELTS   ICE  45 

shaped  blossoms,  again,  even  after  they  open,  are 
admirably  adapted  for  keeping  in  the  heat  ;  and 
they  are  also  exactry  fitted  to  the  shape  and  size  of 
the  bees  and  flies  that  act  as  their  chartered  carriers 
of  pollen.  A  plant,  in  short,  has  to  accommodate 
itself  at  every  point  to  the  needs  of  its  situation  ; 
it  has  to  secure  for  itself  a  firm  foothold  in  the 
soil,  and  a  due  share  of  food  from  the  surrounding 
air  (for  its  diet  after  all  is  chiefly  gaseous)  ;  it  has 
to  take  care  that  its  pollen  shall  be  duly  dis- 
persed, and  its  seedlets  fertilised  ;  and  finally,  it 
has  to  see  that  its  young  are  satisfactorily  settled 
in  the  world,  and  deposited  on  likely  spots  where 
they  can  germinate  to  advantage.  It  must  be  a 
good  parent  as  well  as  a  prudent  and  cautious 
adventurer. 

The  struggle  for  life  carried  on  under  these 
circumstances  has  sharpened  the  wits  of  plants 
to  a  far  higher  degree  than  most  people  imagine. 
Plants  have  developed  almost  as  many  dodges  and 
devices  for  securing  food  or  avoiding  enemies  as 
animals  themselves  have  ;  and  this  single  instance 
enables  us  to  see  with  what  forethought  and  clever- 
ness they  often  provide  against  adverse  chances. 
Soldanella,  indeed,  could  not  exist  at  all  upon  its 
ice-clad  heights  if  it  did  not  lay  up  food  and  fuel 
in  summer  against  the  needs  of  winter,  like  the  bee 
and  the  ant  ;  if  it  did  not  burn  up  its  own  fat  for 
warmth,  like  the  dormouse  ;  if  it  did  not  tunnel 
the  ice  as  the  mole  tunnels  the  earth  ;  if  it  did  not 
retire  beneath  the  snow-sheet  on  the  approach  of 
winter  as  the  queen  wasp  retires  into  the  shelter  of 


46  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

the  moss  when  frosts  begin  to  kill  her  worker 
sisters,  or  as  the  squirrel  retires  into  his  hole  in  a 
tree  at  the  approach  of  December.  Ancestral 
instinct  teaches  the  one  just  as  much  as  it  teaches 
the  other  ;  and  those  who  have  closest  watched 
the  habits  and  manners  of  plants  have  the  highest 
respect  for  their  industry  and  intelligence. 

Looked  at  from  this  point  of  view,  we  may  con- 
sider indeed  that  every  seed,  bulb,  or  tuber  is  not 
merely  a  reservoir  of  material  for  future  growth, 
but  also  a  reservoir  of  fuel  for  supplying  the  heat 
necessary  to  the  first  stages  of  sprouting  or  ger- 
mination. And  without  elaborating  this  question 
further,  I  may  add  that  if  you  will  examine  closely 
many  early  spring  buds  and  flowers,  especially 
such  as  willow  and  hazel  catkins,  you  will  find  not 
only  that  they  are  formed  over  winter  and  enclosed 
in  warm  overcoats  to  protect  them  from  the  cold, 
but  also  that  they  grow  in  spring  before  the  air  is 
warm  enough  to  stimulate  growth  directly — or  in 
other  words,  that  they  depend  in  part  for  heat  on 
the  consumption  of  their  own  internal  fuels. 


Ill 

A   BEAST   OF    PREY 

THE  lion,  we  all  know,  is  the  king  of  beasts  ; 
a  Tippoo  Sahib  of  the  desert,  he  treats  his 
subjects  with  the  simple  and  unaffected 
cruelty  of  an  Oriental  monarch.  The  tiger  is 
also  a  somewhat  ruthless  animal  ;  he  prefers  to 
eat  his  dinner  living.  But  for  sheer  ferocity  and 
lust  of  blood,  perhaps  no  creature  on  earth  can 
equal  that  uncanny  brute,  the  common  garden 
spider.  He  is  small,  but  he  is  savage.  Lions 
and  tigers  are  credited  at  least  with  the  domestic 
virtues  ;  if  we  object  to  the  king  of  beasts  that 
(as  Thersites  said  of  Agamemnon)  he  devours  his 
people,  we  may  be  told  in  extenuation  that,  like 
Charles  I.,  he  is  a  good  husband  and  a  model 
father.  No  such  plea  can  be  urged  in  mitigation 
of  the  misdeeds  of  that  bloodthirsty  wretch,  the 
female  spider.  Not  only  does  this  Messalina 
among  small  deer  poison,  and  then  eat,  her 
prey,  but  she  also  often  kills  and  makes  a  meal 
upon  her  own  lawful  spouse,  the  father  of  her 
children.  In  selecting  a  garden  spider  of  my 
acquaintance,  therefore,  as  a  theme  for  a  short 


48  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

biography,  I  do  not  desire  to  hold  her  up  to 
the  young,  the  gay,  the  giddy,  and  the  thought- 
less as  a  pattern  for  imitation.  She  does  not 
point  a  moral  with  the  ant.  On  the  contrary, 
she  must  rank  with  Semiramis  and  the  famous 
queen  who  dwelt  in  the  Tour  de  Nesle  as  a 
shining  example  of  abandoned  and  shameless 
wickedness. 

Spiders  are  not  all  alike.  They  are  of  many 
kinds,  and  of  various  families.  So  I  shall  begin 
by  remarking  that  Rosalind,  the  particular  lady 
whose  portrait  I  have  here  presented  to  you  in 
words,  and  whose  life-history  my  colleague,  Mr. 
Enock,  has  drawn  for  you  from  nature,  belongs 
to  the  most  familiar  race  of  her  kind,  the  true 
garden  spider,  which  constructs  the  best-known 
and  most  perfect  examples  of  regular  geometrical 
webs.  We  called  her  Rosalind  because  she  was 
a  maiden  of  hunting  proclivities,  who  lived  under 
the  greenwood  in  our  own  particular  Forest  of 
Arden.  But  her  ways  were  not  lovable.  She 
killed  flies  in  a  fashion  that  would  have  brought 
up  fresh  tears  in  the  eyes  of  Jacques  ;  and  she 
devoured  her  Orlando  with  all  the  callous  ferocity 
of  a  South  Sea  Islander. 

I  will  begin  at  the  beginning  with  my  eight- 
legged  friend's  biography.  Rosalind  was  hatched 
in  spring  from  a  cosy  cocoon  or  ball  of  eggs 
deposited  by  her  affectionate,  but  otherwise  cruel, 
mamma  in  the  preceding  October.  She  was  one 
of  a  large  family — say,  seven  or  eight  hun- 
dred. The  cocoon  was  composed  of  yellowish 


A  BEAST  OF  PREY  49 

silk,   and  attached,   as  the  first  illustration  shows 


you  (No.  i),  to 
the  under  side  of 
a  piece  of  trel- 
lis-work, against  a 
cottage  wall,  partly 
overgrown  with  ivy. 
Within  this  snug 
abode  the  tiny  eggs, 
each  wrapped  in  its 
own  internal  cover- 
let, escaped  the 
cold  of  winter,  and 
hatched  out  in  early 
spring  with  the  first 
burst  of  warm  sun- 
shine. It  was  a 
bright  May  morning 
when  they  ventured 
abroad.  The  tiny 
spiders,  just  freed 
from  their  shell,  with 
its  outer  great-coat, 
let  themselves  down 
by  short  webs  to  an 

ivy-leaf  below,  where  they  clustered  for  a  while, 
after  the  queer  fashion  of  their  species,  in  a  sort  of 

D 


NO.  I.— COCOON  OF  YOUNG  SPIDERS 
HATCHING,  AND  SWARMING  OF 
THE  CLAN  ON  AN  IVY-LEAF. 


50  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

close-knit  creche  or  communal  nursery.  Gathering 
together  in  a  compact  ball  or  mass,  like  bees  when 
they  swarm,  the  wee  creatures  began  by  spinning 
in  common  a  covering  of  thin  silk,  in  whose  midst 
they  lay  rolled  up  in  an  apparently  inextricable 
tangle  of  legs  and  bodies.  That  is  the  universal 
fashion  of  young  spiders  of  this  kind.  But  if  you 
touch  them  with  a  straw,  a  strange  commotion 
takes  place  all  at  once  in  the  crowded  home.  The 
mass  unrolls  itself.  The  six  or  eight  hundred  small 
beasts  within  wake  all  together  to  a  sense  of  their 
responsibilities;  the  ball,  which  looks  at  first  like  a 
cherry-stone,  divides  as  if  by  magic  into  so  many 
eager  and  frightened  animals  ;  and  the  spiderlings 
disperse  like  the  nations  at  Babel.  Each  goes  his 
or  her  own  way  helter-skelter,  in  search  of  a  suit- 
able place  to  commence  operations  as  a  general 
flycatcher  ;  and  in  two  minutes  the  space  around 
is  fairly  colonised  by  spiders,  who  set  their  snares 
at  once  with  exemplary  industry.  I  am  glad  to  be 
able  to  give  them  credit  for  the  one  good  quality 
they  do  really  possess  ;  though  I  am  aware  that  in 
their  case  industry  is  often  only  another  name  for 
consummate  greediness. 

From  the  general  gathering  of  the  clan  in  which 
our  Rosalind  thus  took  part  she  was  rudely  roused 
by  the  touch  of  such  a  straw  ;  and,  emerging  in 
haste  into  the  open  world,  the  great,  cruel  world, 
amidst  whose  temptations  henceforth  she  was  to 
earn  her  dishonest  livelihood,  she  cast  about  her 
for  a  favouring  breeze  to  waft  her  first-spun  threads 
to  some  lucky  position.  It  was  a  delicate  operation. 


A  BEAST  OF  PREY  5 1 

Balancing  herself  with  her  eight  legs  on  the  edge 
of  an  ivy-leaf  beside  her  native  corner  (as  you  see 
her  graphically  represented  in  No.  2),  she  span,  to 
begin  with,  a  few  short  ends  of  silk,  which  she 
exposed  to  a  passing  current  of  air  by  tilting  her 
back  up  in  her  most  persuasive  manner.  Where 
the  silk  came  from,  and  how  she  managed  to 
spin  it,  we  will  inquire  hereafter  ;  for  the  moment, 
it  must  suffice  to  say  that  the  wind  was  polite 
enough  to  fall  in  with  her  wishes,  and  to  waft 
one  of  her  threads  to  a  secure  position.  There  it 
gummed  itself  automatically  by  its  own  stickiness. 
Mr.  Knock,  who  timed  her,  reports  the  interval 
she  took  in  fixing  this  first  thread  as  thirty-six 
seconds.  The  cable  itself  was  drawn  out  from 
Rosalind's  spinnerets  by  the  force  of  the  wind,  as  she 
stood  with  her  head  down  and  her  body  protruding; 
in  little  more  than  half  a  minute  she  was  climbing 
up  a  line  fifteen  inches  long,  which  had  caughi  and 
glued  itself  on  the  edge  of  a  jasmine  leaf.  For  the 
silk  is  sticky  and  viscid,  like  the  glue  of  a  mistletoe, 
when  first  produced;  it  only  hardens  as  it  dries, 
so  that  it  can  be  readily  moored  in  its  first  state 
to  whatever  it  touches.  You  may  compare  it  in 
this  respect  to  hot  sealing-wax,  or  to  the  early 
pulled  stage  in  toffee-making. 

In  No.  3,  again,  we  see  Rosalind's  first  snare, 
constructed  neatly,  with  the  usual  architectural 
and  geometrical  skill  of  her  race,  between  the 
twigs  of  the  jasmine  bush.  In  the  centre  she  sits, 
as  is  her  wont,  head  downward.  The  method 
of  making  this  snare  is  so  interesting  and  curious, 


52  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

however,  that  I  shall  describe  it  at  some  length, 

with  needful  explanations. 

Rosalind  began  by  letting  the  wind  fix  an  original 

base  thread,  pretty  much  by  accident.     As  soon  as 

she  was  satisfied  with  the  lie  of  this,  she  formed  a 

few  others  about  it 
irregularly  in  a  rough 
pentagon,  as  you  see 
in  the  outer  part  of 
the  web,  merely  to 
serve  as  a  scaffolding 
for  her  future  opera- 
tions. But  as  soon 
as  she  had  formed  a 
careless  angular  figure 
all  round  the  sphere 
of  her  projected  snare, 
she  let  down  a  perpen- 
dicular thread  from 
the  top  of  her  base, 
through  the  centre  of 
her  predestined  home, 
and  fastened  it  off  at 

NO.  2  -YOUNG  SPIDERLINGS  CASTING  bottom    by 

J 


THEIR  FIRST  THREADS  TO  CATCH  . 

THE  WIND.  down  it  as   she   span 

it.     Then,  walking  up 

this  first  ray-line  again,  she  set  to  work  once  more 
a  little  to  the  right,  spinning  again  as  she  walked, 
and  fastened  a  second  ray  from  the  centre  of  the 
first  to  one  of  her  outer  cables.  Next,  time  after 
time,  she  walked  back  to  the  centre,  ran  along 
the  last  ray  made,  trailing  a  thread  as  she  went, 


A  BEAST  OF  PREY 


and  fastened  each  new  line  taut  to  one  of  the 
outer  scaffoldings.  So  at  last  she  had  formed  a 
regular  set  of  rays  like  the  spokes  of  a  wheel,  but  as 
yet  without  any  spiral  connecting  threads  or  mesh- 
like  cross  -  pieces. 
The  rays  of  this 
first  framework  were 
stout  and  thick,  com- 
posed of  several  dis- 
tinct strands,  but 
very  little  viscid  ; 
they  were  built  up  of 
many  threads  each, 
in  a  manner  to  be 
hereafter  described ; 
and  they  hardened 
quickly  on  expos- 
ure to  the  air,  for 
they  were  intended 
mainly  to  serve  as 
beams,  not  as  nets 
or  insect-catchers. 

Her  ground-plan 
being  thus  complete, 
Rosalind  next  pro- 
ceeded with  great 
deliberation  to  add 
the  meshes  of  the 

web  (which  are  the  practical  insect-catchers)  by 
connecting  the  rays  with  the  spiral  network.  In 
doing  this,  she  followed  a  regular  method.  Be- 
ginning at  the  centre,  she  fastened  a  thinner  cord 


NO.   3. — A   BABY   SPIDER   IN    ITS 
FIRST   SNARE. 


54  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

to  one  of  the  spokes,  and  worked  slowly  outward, 
fixing  the  line  to  each  ray  as  she  went  by  the  aid 
of  her  hind  legs,  which  are  almost  hand-like. 
Then,  reversing  the  process,  she  fastened  another 
thread  to  one  of  the  outer  cables,  and  carried  it 
back  through  the  spokes  in  a  similar  spiral  to  the 
hub  or  centre.  These  two  spiral  threads  are  the 
ones  which  she  specially  designed  for  catching  her 
prey  ;  they  are  thinner  than  the  spokes,  but  are 
closely  studded  through  all  their  length  with  tiny 
drops  of  sticky  stuff  like  bird-lime,  admirably 
adapted  for  snaring  insects.  You  can  see  the 
drops,  if  you  look  close,  even  with  the  naked  eye  ; 
and  they  are  very  clearly  visible  by  the  aid  of  a 
pocket-lens. 

How  is  the  web  itself  manufactured  and  pro- 
duced ?  What  is  its  raw  material  ?  Well,  to 
answer  that  question  I  must  give  you  here  some 
brief  description  of  the  personal  appearance  of 
Rosalind  and  her  sisters.  The  garden  spider,  you 
know  (and  as  you  can  see  her  in  No.  6),  is  a 
great,  soft,  eight-legged  creature,  about  half  an 
inch  long,  though  her  comparatively  insignificant 
husband  is  very  much  smaller  and  less  con- 
spicuous. She  consists,  in  the  main,  of  two  parts, 
the  foremost  of  which,  though  it  rejoices  in  the 
scientific  title  of  the  cephalothorax  (science  is 
always  so  careful  to  give  things  nice  easy  names 
while  it  is  about  it !),  may  be  more  popularly 
described  for  most  practical  purposes  as  the  head  ; 
and  to  this  large  compound  head  are  attached  the 
eight  long-jointed,  hairy  legs,  with  the  muscles 


A  BEAST  OF  PREY  55 

that  move  them.  The  other  half  of  the  spider 
consists  of  the  abdomen  or  stomach,  a  soft,  round 
bag,  quaintly  marked  like  a  quail's  head,  and  very 
squashy  in  appearance.  With  this  last  part  of 
herself,  the  garden  spider  spins  her  snare  or  web 
out  of  the  manufactured  material  of  her  own 
body.  She  spins  it  of  her  own  digested  contents. 
And  as  she  has  frequently  to  mend  the  web  after 
various  mishaps,  which  occur  in  the  natural  course 
of  business — as  when  it  is  broken  by  the  wind, 
brushed  against  by  passers-by,  or  torn  and 
mangled  by  a  big  fly  or  wasp — you  can  readily 
understand  that  she  must  eat  in  proportion ; 
which  is,  no  doubt,  the  true  cause  of  her  almost 
incredible  voracity.  In  point  of  fact,  a  healthy 
female  spider  spends  all  her  time  in  catching  prey 
and  eating  it. 

In  No.  4  we  have  a  greatly  enlarged  back  view 
of  the  spinnerets  from  which  the  threads  are  pro- 
duced, and  a  still  more  enlarged  side-view  below 
of  the  separate  little  ducts  from  which  the  com- 
ponent strands  issue.  According  to  circumstances, 
she  makes  her  threads  simple  or  compound.  The 
sticky  fluid  of  which  they  are  formed  is  secreted 
by  powerful  glands  in  the  abdomen  ;  it  is  then 
squeezed  out  through  numerous  minute  tubes,  of 
different  calibres,  and  hardens  in  most  cases  when 
exposed  to  the  air,  though  the  spiral  threads  with 
the  insect-catching  drops  on  them  maintain  their 
viscid  nature  much  longer,  so  as  to  gum  the  flies 
down,  rather  than  entangle  them  in  meshes,  as 
with  the  common  house-spider. 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


No.  5  shows  us  further  details  of  some  other 
interesting  features  in  Rosalind's  anatomy.  The 
upper  figure  represents  three  distinct  varieties  of 

the  viscid  threads, 
each  with  its  own 
peculiar  type  of 
beads,  adapted 
for  catching  lar- 
ger or  smaller 
insects.  Every 
kind  has  its  own 
beads  spread  for 
it.  The  flies  get 
entangled  in  these, 
according  to  their 
size  ;  and  then, 
tearing  the  web  to 
free  themselves, 
find  the  coils  only 
double  round  their 
legs  and  bodies. 

But  the  spider 
does  not  content 
herself  with  merely 
catching  insects  ; 
she  poisons  them 
as  well.  We  had 
not  watched  Rosa- 
lind long  in  her  chosen  lair  before  we  dis- 
covered that  she  did  not  live  in  her  geometrical 
web  ;  that  was  merely  her  hunting- net  ;  her 
private  residence  consisted  of  a  snug  little  cell 


NO.   4. — BACK   VIEW  OF   ROSALIND'S 
SPINNERETS. 


A  BEAST  OF  PREY 


or  nest,  under  shelter  of  a  rose-leaf,  at  a  few 
inches'  distance  from  the  centre  of  the  snare  ; 
and  in  this  quiet*  home  it  was  her  habit  to  rest 
unseen,  under  cover  of  the  shady  leaf,  until  prey 
came  within  measur- 
able distance  of  her 
sphere  of  practical 
politics.  But  she 
kept  up  communi- 
cations with  the  seat 
of  war.  From  the 
centre  of  the  snare 
to  the  nest  she  had 
stretched  a  stout, 
thick  line,  along  which 
she  could  run  eas- 
ily on  the  slightest 
indication  of  a  pro- 
spective victim 
looming  up  in  the 
background.  More- 
over, this  cable  or 
thread  seemed  to  be 
connected  by  its  dif- 
ferent strands  with  NO.  5.  — VISCID 
various  parts  of  the 
snare  ;  at  any  rate,  it 
acted  as  a  telegraphic 
communicator  between  the  home,  strictly  so  called, 
and  the  place  of  business.  For  Rosalind  used 
always  to  recline  at  her  ease  with  one  hand-like 
claw  placed  steadily  on  the  line  of  communica- 


THREADS,  WITH 
STICKY  BEADS;  FOOT  AND  CLAWS 
OF  SPIDER  ;  SPIDER'S  FACE,  WITH 
JAWS  AND  POISON-FANGS. 


58  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

tion  ;  thus  seated,  she  would  watch  with  cat-like 
stealth  for  any  chance  of  a  victim.  The  moment 
a  fly  touched  the  snare,  however  lightly,  it  would 
set  up  a  slight  tremor  of  movement  in  the  indi- 
cating thread  ;  and,  quick  as  lightning,  informed 
by  touch  of  its  whereabouts,  out  Rosalind  would 
dart,  ready  to  go  straight  to  the  spot  and  suck 
that  luckless  creature's  life-blood. 

Besides,  the  bigger  the  fly  or  bee,  the  harder  it 
was  likely  to  struggle  ;  and  Rosalind  noted  well, 
before  starting,  the  comparative  extent  to  which 
the  line  was  convulsed,  and  governed  herself  ac- 
cordingly. If  a  big  bumble-bee  or  wasp  fell  per- 
adventure  into  her  coils,  he  plunged  exceedingly  ; 
and  Rosalind,  prudently  aware  of  the  expected 
sting,  approached  the  dangerous  prey  with  marked 
reserve  and  caution.  But  when  it  was  only  a 
harmless  small  fly  that  struggled  in  the  net,  she 
rushed  forth  from  her  lair  as  bold  as  brass,  seized 
the  body  with  claws  and  jaws,  and  sucked  the 
poor  thing  dry  in  less  than  a  minute.  Then  she 
flung  away  its  empty  skin,  or  cut  it  contemptuously 
out  of  the  web  it  had  injured. 

A  glance  at  the  second  figure  in  No.  5  will 
show  how  admirably  the  spider's  foot  is  adapted 
for  all  these  various  purposes.  Adaptation  could 
hardly  go  further.  The  spider  has  claws  with 
which  she  can  hold  her  web  like  a  hand  ;  and 
she  has  also  sharp  nails  which  aid  her  not  a  little 
in  manipulating  her  prey  and  her  web.  But  she 
has  more  than  all  these :  the  claws  themselves, 
you  will  note,  are  provided  with  toothed  or  comh 


A  BEAST  OF  PREY  59 

like  edges  ;  and  these  curious  saw-teeth  are  useful 
to  the  spider  both  in  arranging  her  webs,  in 
weaving  them  tight  or  loose,  and  in  feeling  the 
line  of  communication,  when  at  rest,  for  indica- 
tions of  a  captured  insect.  If  you  remember  that 
the  spider  has  no  less  than  eight  legs,  each  some- 
what differently  provided  with  special  claws  and 
combs,  you  will  understand  how  formidable  a 
beast  she  really  is  to  creatures  of  her  own  size 
or  smaller. 

But  beneath  the  foot  in  No.  5  are  represented 
those  still  more  terrible  organs,  the  mouth  and 
poison-fang.  The  face  is  shown,  end  on — a  full- 
face  portrait  ;  and  the  little  knobs  above  are  the 
eight  sharp  eyes  with  which  the  spider  looks  out 
for  its  prey  when  captured.  Below  lie  the  jaws, 
with  their  two  movable  poison-fangs,  one  of  which 
is  open,  while  the  other  is  folded  back  into  its 
groove  or  receptacle  like  a  kitten's  claw.  This 
poison-fang  is  supplied  with  venom  from  a  gland 
in  the  head.  When  the  spider  catches  an  insect 
and  desires  to  eat  him  at  once  (as  she  generally 
does  if  he  is  not  very  large)  she  poisons  him  out- 
right, and  proceeds  to  devour  him.  So  she  often 
does  with  a  wasp  or  other  dangerous  insect.  But 
if  she  wishes  to  preserve  him  for  future  use,  she 
quietly  envelops  him  in  a  network  of  web,  and 
keeps  him  in  durance  vile,  as  I  shall  show  you 
later — a  prisoner  awaiting  his  turn  to  be  killed 
and  eaten.  Taking  her  as  a  whole,  therefore,  the 
mother  spider  is  about  as  fiercely  equipped  a  beast 
as  creation  can  produce  :  a  monster  armed  like  the 


60  FLASHLIGHTS  ON   NATURE 

tiger  and  cobra  combined ;  with  the  claws  of  a  lion 
and  the  poison-fangs  of  a  serpent ;  both  which  she 
supplements  by  a  treacherous  snare,  itself  a  union 
of  the  net  and  the  bird-lime  trap.  No  wonder, 
with  such  an  armoury,  that  she  has  prospered 
exceedingly  in  the  struggle  for  existence.  And, 
indeed,  you  will  find  garden  spiders  wherever  you 
go.  They  are  one  of  the  most  successful  types  in 
creation. 

We  watched  our  Rosalind  closely  through  the 
whole  of  a  season.  It  was  a  curious  drama  of 
blood  and  treachery.  For  the  most  part  she  lay 
concealed  like  a  secret  assassin  in  her  nest  behind 
the  rose-leaf,  seldom  spreading  her  net  in  the  sight 
of  the  victim  ;  but  sometimes,  assuming  the  role  of 
highway  robber,  she  would  boldly  rest  in  the  very 
centre  of  her  snare,  with  her  head  downward, 
waiting  for  the  approach  of  casual  small  insects. 
At  such  times,  we  noticed  the  larger  and  more  in- 
telligent flies  usually  gave  her  a  wide  berth  ;  she 
seldom  caught  bluebottles  or  bees  on  these  occa- 
sions of  open  display  ;  but  tiny  gnats  and  midges, 
less  careful  or  less  wise,  would  get  entangled  in  her 
web,  and  at  these  she  would  rush  out  viciously, 
sucking  them  dry  then  and  there,  and  rejecting 
their  empty  skeletons  with  lordly  unconcern.  Her 
appetite  was  unbounded ;  but  she  grew  so  quick, 
she  had  so  often  to  remake  or  repair  her  broken 
snare,  and  she  was  laying  by  so  constantly  for  her 
maternal  functions  and  her  eight  hundred  eggs, 
that  this  did  not  surprise  us.  The  web,  indeed, 
was  often  torn  by  wasps  or  large  flies  out  of  all 


A  BEAST  OF  PREY  61 

recognition  ;  and  at  other  times  it  was  destroyed 
by  the  housemaid  oY  the  gardener.  On  an  average, 
I  should  say,  Rosalind  had  to  rebuild  the  whole 
concern  about  once  in  three  days ;  and  as  she  was 
obliged  to  spin  it  all  out  of  her  own  body,  this  came 
very  expensive.  We  noticed,  however,  that  she 
was  economically  minded,  for  she  wasted  no  web  ; 
I  think  she  ate  up  all  loose  ends  or  remnants  :  and 
the  central  portion,  where  she  occasionally  reposed 
on  the  look-out  for  prey,  was  free  from  the  viscid 
beads  which  elsewhere  adorned  the  cross-pieces. 
You  see,  this  part  of  the  structure  was  of  com- 
paratively small  service  as  a  snare,  while  the  sticky 
stuff  would  have  interfered  with  her  own  freedom 
of  movement.  She  usually  avoided  the  beaded 
spiral,  and  only  ran  along  the  stouter  spokes  or 
cables. 

But  the  most  wonderful  scene  of  all  was  wit- 
nessed when  Rosalind  found  in  her  net  a  large 
wasp  or  a  blow-fly.  On  such  occasions,  she  was 
generally  resting  in  her  nest  under  the  rose-leaf, 
with  one  foot  held  firmly  on  the  cord  of  communi- 
cation. If  a  light  pull  only  came,  she  would  rush 
wildly  forth,  and  seize  in  a  frenzy  the  small  fly 
that  caused  it.  She  seemed  as  if  drunk  with  lust 
of  carnage.  But  when  the  strength  of  the  pull 
showed  her  that  a  large  bee  or  wasp  was  struggling 
in  the  web,  she  would  act  in  various  ways  according 
to  the  needs  of  the  moment.  Wasps  she  ap- 
proached, we  noticed,  with  considerable  fear  ;  she 
knew  their  dangerous  nature.  But  she  was  seldom 
afraid,  even  so,  of  tackling  them ;  though  at  times, 


62 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


if  a  very  large  and  truculent  specimen  got  en- 
tangled in  the  web,  she  seemed  to  despair  of  land- 
ing him.  In  such  cases,  she  would  cut  him  out 
bodily,  by  biting  the  threads,  and  let  him  drop  at 

once,  thankful,  like 
Dogberry,  to  be  rid 
of  a  knave.  A  mode- 
rate-sized wasp,  how- 
ever, she  would  rush 
out  and  attack  in  that 
frenzy  of  rage  and 
hunger,  a  sort  of  mad, 
blind  rage,  which  one 
often  notices  in  fierce 
carnivorous  animals. 
She  would  begin  her 
onslaught  near  the 
victim's  head,  avoid- 
ing his  sting,  and  en- 
velop him  in  web, 
till  his  wings  were 
pinioned  ;  then  she 
would  cautiously  ap- 
proachj.  nearer  and 
nearer  to  the  tail,  but 
give  the  actual  sting 
a  wide  berth  till  the 
conclusion  of  opera- 
tions. The  wasp,  meanwhile,  would  keep  protrud- 
ing his  poisoned  lance  in  evident  fury,  striking 
wildly  at  the  air  ;  while  the  spider  continued  to 
suck  him  dry  quietly,  from  the  head  backward, 


NO.  6.— ROSALIND  ON   HER  WAY  TO 
SECURE  A   BLOW-FLY. 


A  BEAST  OF  PREY 


without  the  slightest  consideration  for  his  feelings 
as  a  living  animal.  I  may  add  (to  anticipate  an 
obvious  criticism)  that  I  am  aware  the  sting-bearing 
wasp  is  a  female  ;  I  have  only  treated  her  here 
to  a  masculine  pro- 
noun because  it  helps 
to  discriminate  her 
better  in  each  sen- 
tence from  my  friend 
Rosalind. 

In  No.  6,  our  in- 
trepid Rosalind  is  re- 
presented in  the  act 
of  attacking  a  blow- 
fly which  has  buzzed 
noisily  into  the  web. 
The  moment  her 
delicate  foot  on  the 
line  informs  her  that 
a  large  insect  has  got 
entangled  in  her  toils, 
she  rushes  angrily 
out,  and  begins  at 
once  to  envelop  him. 
In  this  case,  however, 
her  intention  is  not 
to  devour  him  on  the 
spot  ;  she  means  to 

store  her  larder  with  provisions  for  future  use, 
and  is  as  careless  as  ever  of  the  feelings  of  her 
victim.  No.  7  shows  with  what  bands  she  proceeds 
to  swathe  him.  She  catches  him  firmly  as  fast  as 


NO.  7. — ROSALIND  TRUNDLING  THE 
BLOW-FLY,  AND  ENVELOPING  HIM 
IN  SILK  FROM  HER  SPINNERETS. 


64  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

she  can,  so  as  to  prevent  his  furious  struggles  from 
unnecessarily  destroying  her  precious  web  ;  then 
she  trundles  and  bundles  him  rapidly  in  a  sort  of 
treadmill  or  merry-go-round,  with  her  front  pair 
of  legs  ;  holds  on  to  the  web  and  steadies  her- 
self with  her  two  middle  pairs  ;  and  uses  her  hind 
pair,  with  her  comb-like  claws,  to  distribute  the 
silk  which  she  winds  in  coils  about  his  wings 
and  body.  You  can  see  now  how  useful  are  her 
eight  legs  to  her.  Each  fulfils  its  own  function. 
In  about  a  minute  she  has  twirled  him  round  and 
round,  and  swaddled  him  firmly  in  a  strong  silken 
covering.  I  regret  to  say  she  does  not  then  pro- 
ceed to  eat  him  at  once,  but  keeps  him  imprisoned 
in  torture  for  an  indefinite  period,  tightly  bound 
in  silken  cords,  till  she  desires  to  dine  off  him. 
The  unhappy  fly  is  bound  hand  and  foot — or, 
rather,  wing  and  leg — till  it  is  absolutely  incapable 
of  the  least  resistance  ;  it  is  then  kept  in  its  close 
prison  with  a  cruelty  more  than  mediaeval,  and 
at  last  devoured  alive  piecemeal  by  its  ruthless 
captor.  The  morals  of  spiders  are  scarcely  better 
than  those  of  Chinamen. 

Rosalind's  changes  of  costume  were  also  most 
theatrical  and  interesting.  Like  her  namesake  in 
the  play,  she  appeared  every  now  and  again 
in  a  different  suit  of  clothes,  and  rejected 
her  old  ones.  The  manner  of  making  the 
new  suit,  however,  and  of  shuffling  off  the  old, 
was  extremely  interesting.  She  moulted  periodi- 
cally ;  but  at  each  moult  the  whole  external 
skeleton  was  sloughed  off,  like  a  snake's  skin 


A  BEAST  OF  PREY 


or  a  lobster's  coat,  entire  ;  and  a  new  one  grew 
under  it. 

In  No.  8  Mr.  Knock  has  luckily  caught  our 
heroine  just  at  the  moment  of  such  a  moult.  She 
is  dropping  out  of  her  old  skin,  by  means  of 
her  threads ;  beneath  it,  the  new  one  has  grown, 
the  animal  being  thus  quite  literally  accommo- 
dated with  a  fresh  suit 

"  while  you  wait." 
The  way  the  old  skin 
hangs  up  is  curious 
and  typical.  At  first 
the  new  outer  coat  is 
soft  and  yielding,  like 
the  freshly  moulted 
skeleton  or  armour 
of  a  crab  or  lobster  ; 
but  it  soon  hardens, 
and  not  infrequently 
advantage  is  taken 
of  the  moult  to  re- 
place parts  that  have 
been  accidentally  lost 
or  broken  off,  such  as 
a  leg  or  a  feeler.  The 

economical  spider,  however,  never  wastes  any- 
thing :  she  does  not  throw  away  the  old  suit  ;  as 
soon  as  her  jaws  have  grown  hard  enough,  it  is 
eaten  up  by  the  owner,  and  thus  used  over  again 
in  the  production  of  web  or  body  material.  If 
thrift  be  a  virtue,  no  beast  on  earth  possesses  more 
than  a  spider. 

E 


NO.  8. — A   SPIDER  CHANGING   ITS 
SUIT   OF  CLOTHES. 


66  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

I  nave  left  to  the  last  the  delicate  question  of 
the  domestic  relations  of  spiders,  which  are  cer- 
tainly not  of  a  sort  to  be  commended  for  imitation. 
The  lady  spider,  indeed,  too  closely  resembles  the 
late  Mr.  Deeming  and  the  natives  of  Fiji  in  her 
unsatisfactory  notions  of  conjugal  affection.  I 
regret  to  say  it  is  her  reprehensible  habit  to  devour 
alive  her  unsuccessful  suitors,  and  sometimes  also 
the  father  of  her  own  children.  These  are  unami- 
able  traits,  but  I  must  not  conceal  them.  You 
will  observe,  no  doubt,  that  throughout  I  have  said 
comparatively  little  of  the  masculine  spider,  and 
much  of  his  lady  ;  and  I  have  done  this  of  set 
purpose  ;  for  spiders  are  a  group  in  which  the 
dominance  of  the  females  is  marked  and  undeni- 
able. The  matriarchate  prevails  ;  the  females  are 
the  race,  and  the  males  exist  only  as  lazy  drones, 
mere  idle  fathers  of  future  generations.  This 
being  so,  the  mother  spider,  true  to  her  thrifty 
ideas,  regards  them  in  the  light  of  necessary  evils  ; 
and  being  always  economical,  she  thinks  it  well  to 
utilise  them  for  the  purposes  of  the  race  by  eating 
them  up  the  moment  they  have  fulfilled  their  sole 
and  single  marital  function. 

This  peculiar  habit  makes  the  courtship  of 
spiders  a  grim  tragi-comedy,  well  worth  observ- 
ing. In  No.  9  Mr.  Knock  has  represented  one 
salient  scene  in  the  painful  drama.  And  this  is 
the  interpretation  thereof.  Two  male  spiders  have 
come  to  pay  their  court  to  the  supercilious  Rosa- 
lind. She,  good  lady,  sits  unconcerned  but  watch- 
ful in  the  centre  or  hub  of  her  snare,  apparently 


A  BEAST  OF  PREY 


67 


careless  of  the  two  eager  postulants  for  her  hand 
and  heart,  but  in  reality  observing  them  with 
critical  eyes,  and  ready  to  rush  out  and  devour 
them  if  they  fail  to  please  her.  The  gentle- 
men, accordingly, 
have  to  be  very 
artful.  They  go 
through  strange 
antics.  Now  they 
approach  her  cau- 
tiously, very  much 
on  the  alert,  ready 
to  pull  the  string 
and  advertise  her 
of  their  presence, 
but  also  prepared 
to  turn  and  run, 
or  to  cut  the  line 
and  drop,  if  she 
does  not  regard 
their  advances 
with  favour.  Now 
again  they  retreat, 
alarmed  at  her 
aspect.  Rosalind 
sulks  in  her  web  Na  9-— ROSALIND  WATCHING  HER  TWO 

SUITORS,    IN    DOUBT    WHETHER    TO 

and     waits    to     see  ACCEPT  OR  DEVOUR  THEM. 

which   of    the    two 

she  prefers,  if  either.  Should  the  fit  so  seize  her, 
she  will  accept  one  or  other  of  her  ardent  suitors  ; 
but  should  she  happen  to  be  hungry  or  else  to 
be  disappointed,  or  in  an  ill-humour,  she  may 


68  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

dart  out  upon  them  at  once  and  make  a  meal  off- 
hand of  her  devoted  admirer. 

Even  the  successful  suitor  himself  is  by  no 
means  safe  ;  for  it  is  Rosalind's  way,  when  she 
tires  of  a  lover,  not  to  nag  and  quarrel,  but  to 
devour  him  outright,  and  look  out  for  another. 
This  saves  time  and  trouble,  and  is  better  in  the 
end  for  the  temper  of  the  species. 

When  autumn  comes,  Rosalind  lays  her  eggs  in 
a  cocoon,  and  fastens  them  on  the  under  side  of 
a  stone  or  piece  of  wood,  where  they  hatch  out  in 
spring,  and  so  the  whole  story  of  her  life  begins 
over  again.  She  herself,  meanwhile,  retires  to 
winter  quarters,  where  she  passes  the  cold  months 
under  shelter  in  a  state  of  more  or  less  torpidity. 
It  is  not  known  exactly  how  long  a  spider  lives  ; 
but  they  continue  for  at  least  two  or  three  years, 
and  probably  much  longer.  We  had  Rosalind 
under  examination  for  two  successive  summers. 

The  family  to  which  Rosalind  belongs,  that  of 
the  geometrical  spiders,  may  be  placed  at  the  very 
head  of  the  whole  spider  order.  Its  webs  are  the 
most  perfect  in  architecture,  are  the  best  planned 
as  snares,  and  have  a  strict  monopoly  of  the  sticky 
beads,  which  help  to  entangle  the  prey,  and  which 
are  also,  under  the  microscope,  most  beautiful 
objects,  decked  in  prismatic  colours,  and  looking 
like  so  many  iridescent  opals.  In  shape  and  mark- 
ings these  spiders  are  also  superior  to  the  common 
run  of  eight-legged  beasts,  though  they  are  certainly 
less  beautiful  than  some  of  the  lovely  green  and 
variegated  semi-transparent  field-spiders.  It  would 


A  BEAST  OF  PREY  69 

not  be  going  too  »far  to  say  that  the  geometrical 
web-makers  are  the  most  advanced  and  civilised 
members  of  the  entire  group.  For  there  are 
degrees  of  evolution  among  these  hunting  car- 
nivores. Some  of  the  least  advanced  kinds  merely 
stalk  or  hunt  down  their  prey  on  the  open.  These 
lower  savages  among  the  spider  tribe  lurk  under 
stones  or  in  the  crevices  of  bark,  and  rush  out  at 
their  victims,  or  spring  upon  them  unawares.  One 
may  compare  them  to  such  low  hunting  human 
races  as  the  natives  of  New  Guinea  or  the  North 
American  Indians.  Others,  again,  construct  tubes, 
with  or  without  trap-doors,  and  catch  their  prey 
more  or  less  cunningly  near  the  entrance.  Yet 
others,  once  more,  weave  irregular  webs,  among 
leaves  and  twigs,  or  in  the  corners  of  rooms,  and 
trust  rather  to  mere  meshes  than  to  sticky  sub- 
stances. But  the  geometrical  web-weavers,  the 
most  advanced  of  their  kind,  have  learned  by  the 
experience  of  ages  how  to  construct  a  regular 
snare,  on  a  fixed  ground-plan,  and  to  supplement 
it  by  a  singular  trick  of  beady  bird-lime. 

Even  among  the  geometrical  web-weavers  them- 
selves, again,  there  are  marked  varieties  of  progress 
and  culture.  For  some  kinds  have  only  three 
claws  to  each  foot,  while  others  have  more  ;  and 
there  are  certain  species  which  possess  in  addition 
a  sort  of  opposable  thumb,  so  that  they  can  catch 
things  as  with  a  hand,  feeling  them  all  round, 
and  grasping  their  threads  as  a  sailor  grasps  a 
cable.  Such  opposable  thumbs  are  always  accom- 
panied by  high  intelligence,  as  one  sees  in  man, 


70  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

in    the    monkeys,    in    the    opossum,    and    in    the 
parrot. 

Indeed,  all  round,  it  may  be  safely  said  that  the 
spiders  as  a  group  stand  at  the  head  of  the  animals 
with  jointed  bodies  ;  and  that  the  geometrical  tribe 
in  particular  stand  at  the  head  of  all  the  spiders. 
Nor  must  we  consider  that  their  cruelty  and  ferocity 
put  them  out  of  court  in  this  connection  ;  for  man 
himself,  taking  him  in  the  mass,  is  one  of  the  most 
ruthless  of  animals  ;  and  the  bees,  which  by  uni- 
versal consent  rank  among  the  highest  insects,  are 
the  group  which  most  universally  slaughter  their 
own  brothers,  the  drones,  as  soon  as  the  community 
has  no  further  use  for  them.  The  fact  is  that 
Nature  as  a  whole  is  intensely  utilitarian  ;  each 
kind  fights  for  its  own  hand  alone,  and  regards  as 
little  the  feelings  of  other  kinds  as  the  fisherman 
regards  the  feelings  of  herrings,  or  as  the  fish- 
monger minds  the  objection  of  lobsters  to  be 
boiled  alive  for  our  human  convenience.  A  race 
that  skins  living  eels  at  Billingsgate,  and  decks  its 
hats  with  egrets  in  Hyde  Park,  has  no  just  ground 
of  complaint,  after  all,  against  my  poor,  misguided, 
husband-eating  Rosalind. 


IV 
A  WOODLAND  TRAGEDY 

NATURE  is  rich  in  tragedies  ;  but  somehow, 
the  tragedies  which  are  long  familiar  to 
us  cease  to  be  tragic.  We  accept  them 
as  merely  picturesque  little  episodes  in  our  daily 
existence.  Nobody  is  astonished,  for  example, 
when  a  cat  plays  with  a  mouse  before  killing  it  ; 
nor  when  she  teaches  her  attentive  kittens  how 
to  let  it  go  in  sport,  maimed  and  half  dead  ;  it 
does  not  shock  us  when  the  poor  dazed  little 
beast,  thinking  the  danger  over,  makes  a  wild 
burst  for  freedom,  that  she  shows  them  how  to 
pat  it  with  one  cruel  paw  and  still  further  disable 
it.  Facts  like  these  are  too  common  and  too  long 
known  to  appeal  to  us  strongly.  We  note  them 
with  a  very  languid  interest.  But  when  people 
first  learn  some  unfamiliar  example  of  Nature's 
cruelty,  I  almost  always  find  they  are  pro- 
foundly struck  by  it.  The  novelty  of  the  case 
gives  it  vividness  and  makes  it  sink  in  deep. 
And  I  know  no  instance  which  impresses  the 
ordinary  observer  so  much  at  sight  as  the  first 
time  when,  wandering  accidentally  through  some 
peaceful  copse  or  wood,  he  finds  himself  face  to 


72  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

face  with  that  hateful  hoard,  a  butcher-bird's 
larder. 

For  what  the  cat  does  with  the  mouse  for  a 
few  short  moments,  that  the  butcher-bird  does 
with  it  through  long  lingering  days  and  nights 
of  agony.  He  impales  his  mouse  alive  on  the 
stout  thorn  of  some  may-bush,  and  keeps  it  there, 
maimed  but  struggling,  or  slowly  dying,  for  a 
week  at  a  time,  until  he  has  need  for  it  as  food 
for  himself  or  his  family. 

A  clever  artist  devised  a  cover  for  one  of  our 
popular  scientific  papers  many  years  ago,  which 
enforces  well  the  universality  of  this  ceaseless 
struggle  of  kind  against  kind,  each  wholly  regard- 
less of  the  other's  feelings.  In  the  centre  fore- 
ground, a  fly  flits  airily  over  the  surface  of  a 
river,  searching  for  its  mate  in  the  full  joy  of 
existence.  Beneath,  a  small  fish  jumps  up  at  the 
fly,  and  seems  in  the  very  act  of  seizing  and 
swallowing  it.  Behind  and  below,  however,  a 
pike  lies  grimly  in  wait  for  the  small  fish  with 
open  mouth  ;  but  he  is  anticipated  by  a  king- 
fisher, which  snatches  it  from  his  jaws  before 
they  can  close  over  it.  In  the  background  above, 
a  hawk  poises  itself  on  even  wings,  ready  to 
swoop  down  in  triumph  at  last  on  the  successful 
kingfisher.  There  you  have  the  epic  of  animal 
life  in  brief ;  you  have  only  to  throw  in  an 
angler  on  the  bank,  fishing  for  the  pike  with  a 
live-bait  of  minnow,  and  an  enthusiastic  ornitho- 
logist pointing  his  fowling-piece  at  the  rare  species 
of  hawk,  in  order  to  complete  the  whole  cycle 


A  WOODLAND  TRAGEDY  73 

\ 

of  slaughter.  And  observe  that  each  actor  in  this 
drama  of  death  is  as  careless  as  to  the  life  he 
sacrifices  and  the  pain  he  causes  as  the  angler 
is  careless  as  to  the  feelings  of  the  minnow  he 
impales  upon  his  barbed  hook,  or  the  sportsman 
is  careless  as  to  the  feelings  of  the  happy  birds 
he  brings  down  with  his  cartridges. 

Nevertheless,  when  we  come  across  one  page 
in  this  vast  mute  tragedy  of  sentient  life  among 
the  calm  surroundings  of  a  quiet  wood,  it  always 
surprises  us  afresh  ;  and  that  is  why  I  have 
chosen  as  a  good  illustrative  case  of  this  phase 
in  nature  my  wicked  old  friend  the  shrike,  or 
butcher-bird. 

Externally,  I  do  not  know  that  there  is  any- 
thing about  his  personal  appearance  which  might 
lead  you  to  suppose  he  was  much  wickeder  or 
fiercer  than  the  remainder  of  his  family.  In 
costume  and  colouring  he  is  quiet  and  demure, 
not  to  say  almost  quakerish.  To  be  sure,  there 
is  a  lurking  gleam  in  the  corner  of  his  eye,  when 
you  get  a  close  view  of  him,  which  betokens  a 
crafty  and  cruel  disposition  ;  while  something 
about  the  peculiar  curl  at  the  tip  of  his  beak 
seems  to  suggest  a  lordly  indifference  to  suffer- 
ing in  others.  But  on  the  whole  he  is  a  hypo- 
crite in  his  outer  dress  ;  you  would  hardly  suspect 
him  at  first  sight  of  the  high  crimes  and  mis- 
demeanours of  which  I  admit  him  to  be  really 
guilty.  Still,  you  do  not  know  a  thrush  till  you 
have  seen  him  eat  worms  alive  slowly,  a  mouthful 
at  a  time,  pulling  them  out  of  their  holes  and 


74 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


chewing  them  gradually  as  he  goes  ;  and  you 
do  not  know  a  butcher-bird  lill  you  have  lighted 
upon  him  at  home  in  his  woodland  haunts,  with 
his  living  and  writhing  larder  collected  all  round 
him. 

In  size,  the  butcher-bird  (No.  i)  is  about  as  large 
as   a   lark  ;    but   he   is   a   stouter   and  handsomer 

bird,  especially  in  his 
fresh  spring  plum- 
age, when  he  goes 
a-courting,  and  wins 
his  soberer  bride  by 
the  beauty  of  his 
coat  and  the  gallan- 
try of  his  bearing. 
His  colouring  is  fine, 
but  somewhat  diffi- 
cult to  describe,  his 
recognised  specific 
name  of  "  the  red- 
backed  shrike  "  being 
perhaps  too  strong 
for  his  actual  hues. 

Chestnut,  shading  into  reddish  brown  above,  would 
be  a  more  accurate  mode  of  stating  the  facts  ;  but 
he  is  pinky-white  below,  and  has  dashes  of  blue,  of 
grey,  of  pure  white,  and  of  black  scattered  about 
in  various  parts  of  his  plumage.  A  bright  black 
bill  and  a  dark  hazel  eye  add  beauty  to  his  sharp 
and  vigorous  countenance.  Alertness,  indeed,  is 
the  keynote  of  his  character. 

As    in    most   dominant    races,    his    lady    differs 


NO.  I. — THE   BUTCHER-BIRD. 


A  WOODLAND  TRAGEDY  75 

much  from  him.  She  is  duller  and  darker,  and 
lacks  the  occasional  white  patches  that  adorn 
her  lord.  But  she  shares  his  general  air  of  keen 
life  and  his  rapidity  of  movement,  being  in  every 
respect  a  helpmeet  for  him. 

Mr.    Enock    has   represented   her  in   No.  2    in 
a  characteristic  attitude,  perched  on   a  small  twig 


NO.  2. — THE  BUTCHER-BIRD'S  WIFE. 

of  hawthorn,  and  ready  to  pounce  down  upon 
a  luckless  fly,  whose  movements  she  is  watching 
with  interested  attention. 

I  say  hawthorn  on  purpose,  for  the  peculiarity 
of  the  butcher-bird  is  that  in  England  or  abroad 
it  haunts  for  the  most  part  thorn-bearing  bushes. 
With  us,  it  is  but  a  summer  migrant,  occurring 


76  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

pretty  frequently  in  the  southern  counties ;  but 
its  winter  home  is  on  the  Upper  Nile  and  in  East 
and  South  Africa,  where  it  can  find  in  abundance 
the  thorny  shrubs  of  the  desert  ranges,  which 


NO.  3. — PART  OF  THE  BUTCHER-BIRD'S  LARDER. 

stand  it  in  good  stead  as  pegs  or  hooks  on  which 
to  base  its  larder.  In  England,  it  usually  selects 
a  hawthorn  for  its  scene  of  operations. 

No.  3  shows  far  better  than   I   can  describe  it 


Of    THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


A  WOODLAND  TRAGEDY  77 

the  nature  of  these  food-stores,  where  the  butcher- 
bird lays  by  meat  for  himself,  his  mate,  and  his 
unfledged  young.  The  larder  is  always  situated 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  nest,  and  the  male 
bird  hunts  for  flies,  bees,  and  other  insects,  while 
the  female  sits  on  the  eggs  hard  by.  He  eats  a 
few  at  once,  to  allay  his  hunger,  spitting  them 
first  as  a  means  of  holding  them  ;  but  the  greater 
number  he  preserves  alive  upon  the  cruel  thorns 
for  the  use  of  his  mate  and  his  callow  nestlings. 
"  Les  peres  de  familk"  said  Talleyrand,  "  sont  cap- 
ables  de  tout."  And  we  may  well  exclaim,  "  Oh, 
parental  affection,  what  crimes  are  perpetrated  in 
thy  name  ! " 

The  particular  portion  of  the  larder  which 
Mr.  Enock  has  selected  for  representation  con- 
tains a  bumble-bee,  two  large  flies,  and  a  nestling 
hedge-sparrow,  stolen  from  its  mother ;  for  the 
butcher-bird  does  not  wholly  confine  himself  to 
a  diet  of  insects  ;  he  is  cannibal  enough  to  catch 
and  eat  other  birds,  not  to  mention  mice  and  such 
small  mammals.  So  fierce  and  savage  is  he  when 
on  the  hunt  after  provender,  that  he  will  even 
spear  and  impale  larger  birds  than  himself,  such 
as  blackbirds  and  thrushes.  Not  content  with 
hanging  them  on  the  thorns  alive,  he  will  fasten 
down  their  legs  and  wings  by  an  ingenious  cross 
arrangement  of  twigs  and  branches,  so  as  to  pre- 
vent them  from  escaping  ;  for  he  does  not  so  much 
desire  to  kill  his  prey,  as  to  keep  it  alive  till  he 
is  ready  to  eat  it  or  to  distribute  it  to  his  family. 
He  knows  that  dead  birds  soon  decay  ;  and  he 


78  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

doesn't  like  his  game  high  :  but  he  also  knows 
that  wounded  birds  will  live  on  and  keep  quite 
fresh  for  days  together;  so  he  is  careful  to  dis- 
able without  actually  killing  the  creatures  he 
captures. 

Among  the  animals  I  have  seen  in  butcher- 
birds' larders  I  may  mention  mice,  shrews,  lizards, 
robins,  tomtits,  and  sparrows  ;  among  the  smaller 
birds  he  especially  affects  willow-wrens  and  chiff- 
chaffs  :  but  keepers  tell  me  that  they  have  even 
found  them  seizing  and  spitting  young  partridges 
and  pheasants.  Whether  this  is  true  or  not  I  can- 
not say  ;  but  the  game-preserving  interest  certainly 
looks  upon  shrikes  with  no  friendly  eye,  and  you 
may  sometimes  see  one  hung  up  on  a  nail  among 
the  jays  and  hawks  and  stoats  and  weasels  on 
the  "  keeper's  trees,"  where  the  guardians  of  the 
wood  display  the  corpses  or  skins  of  evil-doers 
as  a  terror  to  their  like,  much  as  mediaeval  kings 
displayed  the  heads  of  traitors  above  the  gates  of 
the  city. 

Oddly  enough,  however,  these  "  keeper's  trees  " 
themselves  are  favourite  haunts  and  hawking-pitches 
of  the  butcher-bird,  who  is  so  little  deterred  by  the 
supposed  lesson  that  he  uses  them  as  convenient 
places  for  catching  insects.  For,  in  spite  of  his 
occasional  carnivorous  tastes,  your  shrike  is  at 
heart,  and  in  essence,  an  insect-eater.  He  adds  a 
mouse  or  a  tit  as  an  exceptional  luxury.  Now,  he 
knows  that  the  owls  and  stoats  hung  up  on  the 
keeper's  rustic  museum  attract  numbers  of  carrion 
flies,  and  he  therefore  perches  calmly  on  the 


A  WOODLAND  TRAGEDY 


79 


boughs  above  the  mouldering  remains  of  his  own 

slaughtered  brother  to  await  the  insects  that  come 

to    devour    him. 

Then      he     darts 

upon  them   with 

something       of 

the    fly -catcher's 

eagerness,  eating 

them  up  at  once, 

or  flying  off  with 

them  alive  to  im- 
pale in  his  store- 
house. 

In    No.  4    we 
see     the     female 
butcher-bird,  on 
her   return   from 
a  successful  chase 
after     prey     of 
greater      import- 
ance.      She    has 
caught  a  harvest- 
mouse,   the    tini- 
est  and  prettiest 
of      our      Eng- 
lish   mammals, 
and  though  with- 
out    a     license 
to     hang     game, 
has    threaded     it 

through  the    neck  on   a  branch  of  hawthorn,  as 
a  preliminary  to  eating  it.     This  enables  her  to 


N0>  4._THE  BUTCHER-BIRD'S  WIFE 

IMPALING  A   HARVEST-MOUSE. 


8o  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

hold  it  conveniently  as  on  a  fork  or  skewer  while 
she  pecks  at  it.  Sometimes  you  will  find  the  mice 
fastened  through  the  body,  and  gnawing  the  twig 
with  their  teeth  in  their  prolonged  agony.  But 
the  butcher-bird  takes  no  notice  of  their  writhings 
and  their  groans  :  she  treats  them  with  the  in- 
difference of  a  fishmonger  to  lobsters.  It  is  her 
business  to  provide  for  her  own  young,  and  she 
does  it  as  ruthlessly  as  if  she  were  a  civilised 
human  being. 

The  shrike's  ordinary  method  of  capturing  prey 
closely  resembles  that  of  the  fly-catcher,  to  which, 
however,  it  is  not  really  related.  The  resemblance 
is  merely  one  of  those  due  to  similarity  of  habit. 
Every  well-conducted  butcher-bird  has  a  settled 
perch  or  pitch  on  which  he  sits  to  watch  and  wait, 
and  to  which  he  returns  after  each  short  excursion. 
Flies  and  bees  he  catches  on  the  wing,  darting 
down  upon  them  suddenly  with  a  swoop  like  a 
kingfisher's  ;  but  he  also  often  takes  them  sitting, 
especially  when  they  are  settled  on  a  leaf  or  branch, 
or  are  eating  carrion.  One  of  his  most  favourite 
hunting-boxes  is  a  telegraph  wire,  and  he  prefers 
one  that  crosses  the  corner  of  a  wood  ;  there  he 
will  sit  with  his  head  held  sapiently  on  one  side, 
keeping  a  sharp  look-out  from  his  beady  brown 
eyes  in  every  direction.  If  a  bee  lights  on  a  head 
of  clover,  if  a  cockchafer  stirs,  if  a  mouse  moves 
in  the  grass,  if  a  fledgeling  thrush  makes  a  first 
unguarded  attempt  to  fly — woe  betide  the  poor 
innocent  ;  our  butcher-bird  is  upon  him,  with  a 
fierce  darting  beak,  and  in  ten  seconds  more,  his 


A  WOODLAND  TRAGEDY  81 

writhing  body  adds  to  the  store  in  the  shrike's 
larder. 

A  good  place  and  time  to  watch  a  butcher-bird 
at  work  is  in  a  quiet  field  by  a  copse  just  after  the 
mowing.  But  you  must  hide  carefully.  The  short 
grass  is  then  full  of  beetles,  crickets,  and  grass- 
hoppers, as  well  as  of  mice,  shrews,  and  lizards, 
who  can  conceal  themselves  less  easily  than  they 
were  wont  to  do  in  the  long  hay  before  the  cutting. 
At  such  times,  hawks  and  owls  make  a  fine  liveli- 
hood in  the  fields  ;  but  their  habit  is  to  hunt  their 
quarry  on  the  open.  They  hover  and  drop  upon 
it.  That  is  not  the  butcher-bird's  plan  ;  he  is  a 
more  cautious  and  secret  foe  ;  he  sits  casually  on 
his  branch  or  his  telegraph  wire,  with  his  head  on 
one  side,  till  his  prey  stirs  visibly  ;  then  he  pounces 
on  him  from  above,  making  a  short  excursion  each 
time,  and  returning  to  rest  on  his  accustomed 
position.  When  he  catches  a  bird,  and  eats  it  at 
once,  he  begins  by  spitting  it  on  a  thorn  :  then  he 
attacks  the  skull  first,  breaking  it  through  and 
eating  the  brain,  which  is  his  favourite  tit-bit. 
He  also  makes  raids  on  the  nests  of  other  birds, 
and  carries  off  the  nestlings. 

If  you  open  the  crop  of  a  butcher-bird,  the  con- 
tents will  show  you  that,  in  England  at  least,  its 
main  articles  of  diet  consist  of  bees  and  flies,  but 
especially  of  beetles.  It  is  full  of  their  hard  wing- 
cases.  Now,  ornithologists  have  long  noticed  that 
the  distribution  of  butcher-birds  in  the  land  is 
very  capricious  ;  in  one  district  they  will  be  fairly 
numerous  (though,  at  best,  they  are  rare  birds), 

F 


82  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

and  in  another,  close  by,  they  will  be  very  un- 
common or  quite  unknown.  It  is  probable  that 
this  relative  frequency  or  scarcity  depends  upon 
the  distribution  of  their  proper  food-insects.  In- 
deed, just  as  we  all  know  that  an  "  army  fights 
upon  its  stomach,"  so  we  are  beginning  to  know 
now  that  commissariat  lies  at  the  bottom  of  most 
problems  of  animal  life.  I  used  to  wonder  on  the 
Riviera  why  trap-door  spiders,  with  their  long 
tubular  nests,  were  abundant  in  certain  deep  red 
clay-banks,  but  wholly  wanting  in  others,  just  as 
sunny,  just  as  soft,  just  as  easy  to  tunnel  ;  till  one 
day  it  struck  me  that  the  spiderless  banks  were  ex- 
posed now  and  then  to  the  cold  wind,  the  mistral, 
and  hence  were  naturally  almost  flyless.  As  a 
matter  of  course,  the  spiders  went  where  the  flies 
were  to  be  found  ;  and  these  open  banks,  though 
sunny  and  warm,  were  from  the  spider's  point  of 
view  mere  Klondykes  or  Saharas. 

It  is  just  the  same  with  the  butcher-birds. 
Beetles  and  bees  frequent  for  the  most  part 
warm,  crumbling  soils  ;  they  are  infrequent  on 
damp  clays  and  chilly,  marshy  places.  Sandstone 
and  chalk  attract  them  ;  on  London  clay  or  the 
damp  flats  of  the  Weald  they  are  few  and  far  be- 
tween. Hence,  where  the  beetles  are,  there  will 
the  shrikes  be  gathered  together.  They  abound 
(comparatively)  in  warm  sandstone  hills,  but  are 
almost  unknown  in  chilly  clay  districts.  Not  that 
they  mind  the  cold  as  such  ;  it  is  the  question  of 
food  that  really  affects  them.  So,  too,  with  the 
swallows  and  other  long-winged  insect-hawkers. 


A  WOODLAND  TRAGEDY  83 

The  swift  flies  very  high,  and  lives  on  summer 
insects,  which  come  out  in  July  and  August  only  ; 
so  he  arrives  here  late,  and  goes  away  again  some- 
times as  early  as  the  date  of  grouse-shooting.  The 
house-martin,  on  the  other  hand,  subsists  on  low- 
flying  midges  which  surround  houses ;  he  therefore 
comes  first  of  all  his  group,  and  goes  away  latest. 
The  night-jar  flits  over  fern-clad  or  heather-clad 
moors,  and  feeds  almost  entirely  on  certain  night- 
flying  beetles  and  moths  ;  hence  he  arrives  when 
they  hatch  out  from  the  cocoon,  and  flaps  south- 
ward again  on  his  big,  overlapping  wings  as  soon 
as  they  have  disappeared  or  been  mostly  eaten. 
It  is  all  a  question  of  commissariat.  Our  early 
English  kings  had  manors  of  their  own  in  many 
parts  of  the  country,  in  all  of  which  supplies  were 
laid  up  throughout  the  year  for  the  royal  table  ; 
in  due  time,  the  king  arrived  with  all  his  court, 
stopped  a  month  or  six  weeks,  ate  up  all  that 
was  provided  for  him,  and  then  rode  on  with  his 
hungry  horde  to  the  next  royal  manor.  It  is  just 
the  same  with  the  birds  ;  they  come  and  go  as 
supplies  are  assured  them.  The  shrike  stops  in 
England  while  bees  and  beetles  last  ;  when  pro- 
vender fails,  he  is  off  on  his  own  strong  wings  to 
Rhodesia. 

No.  5  introduces  us  to  another  strange  scene  in 
the  eternal  epic  of  prey  and  slaughter.  It  shows 
us  how  beetle  proposes,  but  shrike  disposes.  Here, 
parental  feeling  wars  against  parental  feeling.  A 
busy  group  of  burying-beetles  have  lighted  upon 
a  dead  field-mouse  —  itself  hawked  at,  perhaps, 


84  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

and  wounded  by  "  a  mousing  owl,"  but  not  quite 
killed  at  the  time,  and  now  abandoned  on  the 
open.  The  burying-beetles,  all  agog,  proceed  to 
cover  it  with  a  layer  of  earth — not,  indeed,  out 
of  such  instinctive  piety  as  that  which  induced 


NO.  5. — BURYING-BEETLES   AND    FIELD-MOUSE. — BEETLE 
PROPOSES,    BUT   SHRIKE   DISPOSES. 

the  robin-redbreast  and  the  wren  in  the  story  to 
cover  the  Babes  in  the  Wood  with  mouldering 
leaves,  but  for  a  much  more  prosaic  and  practical, 
though  none  the  less  praiseworthy,  motive.  They 
want  to  lay  their  eggs  in  it,  so  that  the  maggots 
may  have  plenty  to  eat  when  they  hatch  out — for 


A  WOODLAND  TRAGEDY  85 

these  burying-beetles  are  carrion-feeders,  whose 
larvae  thrive  on  dead  and  decaying  animals  ;  and 
they  desire  to  bury  the  corpse  in  order  to  keep 
it  intact  for  their  own  brood,  without  interference 
on  the  part  of  other  and  more  powerful  carrion- 
eaters.  When  successful,  they  cover  the  mouse 
entirely  with  mould,  and  thus  leave  their  young 
supplied  with  a  liberal  diet. 

But  hidden  among  the  greenery  of  a  tree  over- 
head, a  cynical  butcher-bird  is  calmly  watching 
those  insect  sextons  from  the  corner  of  his  eye. 
As  soon  as  enough  of  them  have  collected  on 
the  spot,  he  will  swoop  down  upon  their  bodies 
unseen  from  above,  and  will  carry  them  off  to 
spike  them  on  his  own  pet  thorns  for  the  benefit  of 
his  struggling  young  family.  Thus  does  parental 
affection  war  unconsciously  against  parental  affec- 
tion. Each  kind  fights  only  for  its  own  hand, 
and  regards  only  the  young  of  its  own  species. 
For  as  Tennyson  says  well  in  "  Maud  "  : — 

"  Nature  is  one  with  rapine,  a  harm  no  preacher  can  heal ; 
The  Mayfly  is  torn  by  the  swallow,  the  sparrow  speared 

by  the  shrike, 
And   the   whole   little  wood   where    I    sit   is   a  world  of 

plunder  and  prey." 

No.  6  shows  us  one  member  of  the  butcher- 
bird's young  family,  just  hatched  and  fledged,  in 
his  streaky  grey  plumage,  and  beginning  to  go 
out  upon  the  world  for  himself.  He  is  trying 
to  catch  an  insect  on  a  thorn  above  him.  It 
also  suggests  to  us  the  appropriate  moral  that  if 


86 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


you  train  up  a  butcher-bird  in  the  way  he  should 
go,  when  he  is  old  he  will  not  depart  from  it. 
Lessons  of  cruelty  are  here  imbibed — I  cannot 


NO.  6.— THE  NAUGHTY  BUTCHER-BIRD—"  I  WANT  THAT  FLY  !  " 

truthfully  say,  "with  his  mother's  milk/'  but  at 
least  from  his  father's  and  mother's  example. 
While  the  mother-bird  sits  upon  her  nest  (as 
you  see  her  in  No.  7),  the  little  chicks  are  fed 


A  WOODLAND  TRAGEDY  87 

"by  hand,"  so  to  speak,  with  captured  insects. 
But  as  soon  as  they  can  fly  a  little,  they  come 
out  and  perch  upon  the  twigs  of  the  larder,  that 


NO.  7. — THE  BUTCHER-BIRD'S  WIFE  SITTING  ON  HER  NEST. 


they  may  learn  fly-catching  by  helping  themselves 
to  insects  spitted  on  the  thorns,  where  parental 
affection,  however  misguided,  has  placed  them 
for  that  purpose.  Thus  they  imbibe  a  taste  for 


88  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

living  food  from  their  earliest  moments.     As  Prior 
long  ago  put  it : — 

"  Was  ever  Tartar  fierce  and  cruel 
Upon  the  strength  of  water-gruel  ? 
But  how  restrain  his  rage  and  force 
When  first  he  kills,  then  eats,  his  horse  ?" 

What  the  butcher-bird  requires  in  his  place 
of  residence,  then,  is,  above  all  things,  easy  access 
to  warm  sandstone  or  limestone  tracts,  with  plenty 
of  insects,  lizards,  mice,  and  small  birds  ;  he  also 
needs  an  open  common  to  hunt  over,  bushes  and 
trees  on  which  to  perch  at  watch,  and  clumps  of 
thorn-bearing  shrubs  to  provide  him  with  a  larder. 
There  he  builds  his  rude  nest,  one  of  the  roughest 
and  most  inartistic  I  know  ;  and  there  the  mother 
brings  up  her  young  in  her  own  wicked  fashion. 
But  though  a  rather  shy  bird,  the  shrike  does  not 
wholly  fear  or  shun  civilisation ;  for  the  rich  insect 
population  of  our  garden  often  attracts  the  wicked 
pair  ;  and  in  July  and  August,  when  flies  are  rife 
among  the  fruit-trees,  they  will  bring 'their  young 
brood  into  the  currant  and  gooseberry  beds,  and 
teach  the  young  idea  how  to  shoot  in  the  manner 
proper  to  so  carnivorous  a  species. 

As  a  matter  of  evolution,  the  shrike's  position 
is  a  very  interesting  one.  For  he  is  not  exactly 
a  bird  of  prey — rcertainly  he  does  not  belong  to 
the  hawk  and  eagle  order.  His  near  relations  are 
all  mere  insect-eating  birds  ;  but  he  has  gone  a 
little  beyond  them  in  his  carnivorous  habits,  by 
adding  mice,  birds,  and  lizards  to  his  diet.  His 


A  WOODLAND  TRAGEDY  89 

great  discovery,  however,  is  his  cruel  device  of 
using  thorns  for  his  larder  ;  this  ingenious  but 
hateful  invention  it  is  which  has  secured  him  a 
place  in  the  struggle  for  existence.  It  is  curious 
to  note,  too,  how  the  habit  has  reacted  on  the 
bird's  structure  and  appearance.  He  has  acquired 
the  quick  eye  and  nervous  alertness  of  a  bird  of 
prey,  and  has  even  grown  like  that  higher  group 
to  some  small  extent  in  his  beak  and  talons.  He 
is  a  wonderfully  plucky  little  fighter,  too,  both 
against  his  own  kind  and  against  other  species. 

Have  you  ever  reflected  how  wonderfully  varied 
and  eventful  is  the  life  of  such  a  migratory  bird 
as  this  cruel  butcher  ?  We  human  beings,  who 
can  only  travel  south  in  one  of  the  crawling 
expresses  misnamed  trams-de-luxe,  have  little  con- 
ception of  the  freedom  and  variety  which  every 
mere  shrike  can  claim  as  its  birthright.  Let  us 
follow  one  out  briefly  through  its  marvellous  life- 
cycle. 

It  is  hatched  from  a  creamy -coloured  and 
dappled  egg  in  a  nest  in  England.  From  four 
to  six  brothers  or  sisters  occupy  the  home,  and, 
indeed,  to  be  strictly  accurate,  more  than  fill  it. 
Everybody  knows  the  old  conundrum,  "  Why  do 
birds  in  their  little  nests  agree  ?  "  with  its  quaintly 
sensible  answer,  "  Because,  if  they  didn't,  they 
would  fall  out."  Well,  with  the  butcher-birds, 
that  remark  is  literally  accurate.  The  nest  is  a 
ragged  and  rickety  structure,  hardly  big  enough 
to  hold  the  young  as  soon  as  they  are  fledged. 
It  is  built  in  the  boughs  of  a  thorn  bush,  and 


9O  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

near  it  stands  the  well-stocked  parental  larder. 
The  young  butcher-bird,  as  soon  as  he  can  fly, 
is  taught  to  eat  insects  from  the  family  hoard, 
and  later  on  to  pick  them  up  for  himself  on  the 
wing  in  the  open.  He  is  usually  hatched  about 
the  beginning  of  June  ;  by  the  middle  of  July, 
his  mamma  and  papa  take  him  on  the  insect  hunt 
into  neighbouring  gardens.  In  his  early  plumage, 
he  takes  after  his  mamma,  but  already  shows  some 
signs  of  the  white  tips  and  black  markings  which 
will  distinguish  him  as  a  male  bird  in  his  adult 
existence. 

Once  abroad  in  the  world,  he  grows  apace  ; 
and  this  is  necessary,  because,  about  September, 
he  will  have  to  fly  off  with  his  affectionate  parents 
on  a  long,  forced  journey  to  warmer  winter  quarters. 
Not,  of  course,  that  he  minds  the  winter  in  itself ; 
but  the  flies  and  beetles  are  gone  ;  their  sole 
representatives  are  now  the  eggs  and  chrysalids  ; 
mice  and  lizards  have  retired  into  winter  quarters  ; 
no  small  birds  are  about  in  the  unfledged  condi- 
tion where  one  gets  a  fair  chance  with  them  ;  and 
altogether  there  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  travel  south 
and  find  more  plentiful  support  in  some  warmer 
country. 

So  southward  the  family  flits,  when  partridge 
shooting  begins,  first  over  Channel  to  France,  and 
then  on  to  the  Mediterranean.  But  food  is  scarce 
even  in  Provence  and  Italy  during  the  winter 
months  ;  so  our  wise  young  shrike  and  his  parents 
do  not  loiter  about  with  the  invalids  and  flaneurs 
at  Cannes  or  Naples  ;  they  strike  right  across  sea, 


A  WOODLAND  TRAGEDY  91 

via  Sicily  and  Tunis,  to  the  Nile  Valley.  Thence, 
anticipating  Mr.  Cecil  Rhodes  and  disregardful  of 
railways,  they  keep  straight  on,  with  glorious  views 
of  sea  and  mountain,  past  the  Mahdi's  land,  till 
they  arrive  at  the  great  lakes  and  British  South 
Africa.  At  least,  that  is  the  course  pursued  by  the 
greater  number,  though  a  few  more  original  families 
(mostly  Russian  by  birth)  trend  eastward  towards 
the  Persian  Gulf,  and  winter,  after  the  now  fashion- 
able manner,  in  India. 

During  his  absence  in  the  south,  our  shrike 
grows  adult,  and  also  puts  on  his  fine  spring 
colours  (which  are  his  courtship  suit,  intended  to 
charm  his  prospective  mate),  just  before  his  return 
in  May  to  England,  or  rather  to  Europe  ;  for  of 
course  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  he  necessarily 
comes  back  to  his  native  country  ;  though  there  is 
reason  to  believe  that  most  migratory  birds  do 
really  return  year  after  year  to  the  same  quarters. 
They  have  a  summer  residence,  so  to  speak,  in 
France  or  England,  and  a  winter  one  by  the  banks 
of  the  Zambesi  or  the  Indus.  Most  butcher-birds 
that  visit  Europe  in  the  spring  come  fairly  far 
north,  nesting  in  Northern  France,  Southern  Eng- 
land, Belgium,  Holland,  or  Germany.  Few  nest 
on  the  Mediterranean,  probably  because  the  sum- 
mer droughts  in  that  arid  tract  are  unfavourable 
to  their  food-insects  ;  those  that  remain  in  Southern 
Europe  or  Western  Asia  choose,  as  a  rule,  the 
cooler  and  moister  mountain  regions,  such  as  the 
Balkans,  the  Greek  hills,  Armenia,  and  the  Caucasus. 
The  English  residents  fly  back  from  their  African 


92  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

home  (where  they  now  enjoy  the  blessings  of 
British  rule  quite  as  fully  as  in  Britain)  well  fat- 
tened on  juicy  southern  insects,  dressed  in  their 
courting  dress,  and  ready  for  the  serious  business 
of  settling  in  life,  choosing  a  mate,  and  rearing  a 
young  family.  Indeed,  observers  in  Eastern  Africa 
have,  noted  them  during  the  intermediate  period, 
sitting  on  the  thorny  shrubs,  such  as  the  Egyptian 
acacia,  which  abound  in  that  region,  and  already 
adorned  in  their  brilliant  breeding  plumage  in  anti- 
cipation of  their  return  to  the*ir  northern  quarters. 

Some  people  say  that  the  shrike  even  makes 
two  nests  a  year  (as  the  swallow  certainly  does), 
one  in  the  north  and  one  in  Africa  ;  but  this  is 
unlikely,  and  Dr.  Sharpe,  of  the  British  Museum, 
will  have  nothing  to  say  to  it. 

It  is  at  the  mating  season  especially  that  you  have 
a  chance,  if  ever,  of  catching  sight  of  the  butcher- 
bird himself,  seated,  all  eagerness,  on  his  look-out 
tower  ;  and  enjoying  life  with  the  calm  begotten 
of  that  fine  old  recipe — a  bad  heart  and  a  good 
digestion.  He  sits  and  utters  his  amatory  feelings 
now  and  again  in  an  abrupt  little  "  chuck,  chuck," 
which  is  whipped  out  suddenly,  with  a  jerk  of  the 
head  sideways  as  an  appropriate  accompaniment. 
About  the  same  time,  too — say  the  beginning  of 
June — you  stand  the  best  chance  of  coming  upon 
one  of  the  larders,  all  stocked  with  fresh  meat ;  for 
later  in  the  year,  when  the  young  are  well  fledged, 
the  shrike  gives  up  its  murderous  practices  a  little, 
and  takes  its  young  on  the  prowl  for  themselves  in 
orchards  and  gardens,  in  order  to  accustom  them 


A  WOODLAND  TRAGEDY  93 

to  the  habit  of  catching  prey.  But  I  suspect  my 
evil  friend  of  often  murdering  for  mere  murder's 
sake,  as  generally  happens  with  predatory  animals  ; 
they  acquire  a  certain  love  for  the  chase  as  such, 
and  even  seem,  as  one  may  observe  in  cats,  to 
delight  in  cruelty  for  the  sensuous  pleasure  of 
inflicting  pain  on  others.  Your  shrike  has  no 
inkling  of  a  conscience.  He  does  wrong  boldly, 
with  sublime  indifference  ;  and  believes  himself  to 
the  end  to  be  a  model  father,  a  tender  husband, 
an  ornament  to  society,  and  a  useful  citizen. 


V 

MARRIAGE   AMONG   THE   CLOVERS 

PLANTS  marry  and  give  in  marriage  just  as 
truly  as  animals.  They  have  their  loves 
and  their  hatreds,  their  friendships  and  their 
enmities.  The  marriage  customs  of  many  among 
them  are  vastly  interesting  ;  and  yet,  in  spite  of 
all  the  attention  that  has  been  given  to  the  subject 
of  recent  years,  comparatively  few  people  are  even 
now  aware  how  quaintly  they  pair,  how  varied  and 
curious  are  their  matrimonial  arrangements.  Most 
of  us,  it  is  true,  have  heard  by  this  time  the  bare 
facts  of  the  case — that  flowers  are  mainly  fertilised 
by  the  visits  of  insects  :  many  of  us  even  know 
that  in  the  majority  of  instances  the  little  golden 
dust  which  we  call  pollen  must  be  transferred  from 
the  hanging  bags  on  one  blossom  to  the  sensitive 
surface  of  another,  or  else  seed  will  never  be  set ; 
but  not  all  of  us  are  aware  how  intricate  and 
how  numerous  are  the  minor  devices  by  which 
each  kind  of  plant  effects  this  important  object 
in  its  own  fashion.  I  am  going,  therefore,  in  the 
present  paper  to  describe  briefly  the  marriage  cus- 
toms of  two  alone  among  our  commonest  clovers, 
which  I  shall  adduce  as  specimens  of  the  strange 

94 


MARRIAGE  AMONG  THE  CLOVERS          95 

variety  to  be  found  within  the  limits  of  a  single 
type. 

To  begin  with,  however,  I  propose  to  examine, 
as  a  mere  introduction,  a  couple  of  flowers  of  a 
well-known  and  dainty  hot-house  begonia,  which 
may  help  us  to  the  comprehension  of  the  more 
plebeian  clover-heads.  Proverbial  philosophy  has 
long  since  taught  us  that  "  the  longest  way  round 
is  the  shortest  way  home  "  ;  and  when  I  drag  in 
the  begonia,  which  has  apparently  so  little  con- 
nection with  clover,  and  which  is  really  about  as 
unrelated  to  it  by  descent  as  two  flowering  plants 
can  well  be  to  one  another,  you  may  suspect  that 
I  do  so  for  some  sufficient  reason.  The  fact  is, 
begonias  happen  to  be  plants  in  which  the  differ- 
ences of  the  sexes  are  exceptionally  well  marked, 
so  that  they  may  be  apprehended  with  ease  by  the 
naked  eye  and  by  every  observer,  even  the  most 
casual.  I  advise  those  who  have  conservatories  of 
their  own  to  verify  my  statements  in  this  matter 
on  the  specimens  in  their  possession  ;  for  those 
who  have  not,  Mr.  Knock's  excellent  illustrations, 
which  accompany  this  paper,  will  serve  almost  as 
well  as  the  original  objects. 

Most  cultivated  begonias  have  the  flowers  on 
their  branches  arranged  in  groups  or  clusters  of 
three,  the  central  one  of  which  is  often  a  female, 
while  the  two  outer  blossoms  are  usually  males. 
This  is  the  ordinary  plan,  but  it  does  not  hold  good 
of  all  the  species,  some  of  which,  on  the  contrary, 
have  only  one  male  to  each  pair  of  females.  Now, 
these  male  and  female  flowers  are  so  very  unlike  in 


96  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

form  and  structure,  when  you  come  to  look  into 
them,  that  you  would  hardly  believe  they  belonged 
to  the  same  plant  if  you  did  not  find  them  growing 
on  one  branch  together.  They  differ  quite  as 


NO.   I. — FEMALE   BEGONIA   FLOWERS,    FRONT   AND  BACK   VIEW,. 
SHOWING   THE   SEED-BAG. 


markedly  as  the  peacock  differs  from  the  pea-hen, 
much  more  markedly  than  man  differs  from  woman. 
A  glance  at  No.  i,  and  then  at  No.  4,  will  make 
this  point  obvious.  You  would  say,  if  shown  them 


MARRIAGE  AMONG  THE  CLOVERS          97 

separately,  that  these  two  blossoms  must  surely  be 
flowers  of  quite  distinct  species  ;  yet  they  hang  side 
by  side  on  one  and  the  same  plant  like  brothers 
and  sisters. 

The  first  point  of  difference  which  you  will  note 
in  the  two  is  that  the  female  begonia,  as  seen  in 
No.  i,  has  five  petals,  while  the  male,  in  Nos.  4 
and  5,  has  four  only.  (I  call  them  petals  both  for 
brevity's  sake  and  because  I  believe  them  to  be 
so  in  reality,  though  fear  of  that  terrible  critic, 
Dr.  Smelfungus,  who  goes  about  like  a  roaring 
lion  seeking  whom  he  may  devour,  compels  me 
to  add  that  in  the  learned  Doctor's  opinion  they 
are  parts  of  the  calyx — a  petty  distinction  with 
which,  but  for  him,  I  would  not  have  troubled  you.) 
But  what  is  far  more  important  than  the  number 
of  the  petals  is  the  fact  that  the  female  flower  has 
wedged  at  its  back  a  large  triangular-winged  ovary, 
or  seed-capsule.  It  is  the  possession  of  this  ovary, 
indeed,  that  marks  it  out  at  once  as  a  female  :  for 
by  a  female  plant  or  animal  we  mean,  of  course^ 
the  one  which  lays  the  eggs,  produces  the  seeds, 
or  becomes  the  mother  of  the  young  individuals. 
If  you  compare  the  back  of  the  female  flower  in 
the  lower  portion  of  No.  i  with  the  back  of  the 
male  flower  in  No  5,  you  will  recognise  at  once 
the  importance  of  this  distinction.  The  female 
blossom  has  a  seed-bag,  while  the  male  is  barren. 
In  No.  2  we  have  represented  one  such  seed-bag 
cut  open  crosswise,  so  as  to  show  both  the  pro- 
jecting wings  and  the  numerous  little  seeds  in  the 
three  cells  within. 

G 


98 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


But  this  is  not  all:  the  other  parts  of  the  two 
flowers  differ  almost  equally.  The  centre  of  the 
female  blossom  is  occupied,  you  will  observe,  by 
several  twisted  and  wriggling  arms,  the  upper  sur- 
face of  which  is  more  or  less  sticky.  This  surface 
forms  the  receptive  portion,  or  mouth  of  the 
flower,  on  which  grains  of  pollen  must  be  duly 
deposited  before  the  embryo  seeds  in  the  cap- 
sule below  can  begin 
to  swell  and  develop. 
On  the  other  hand, 
the  centre  of  the  male 
flower,  as  seen  in 
No.  4,  is  occupied  by 
a  set  of  very  different 
organs,  the  stamens  or 
pollen-bags,  whose  busi- 
ness it  is  to  produce 
and  shed  the  fertilis- 
ing powder.  Without 
pollen  to  start  them, 
the  seeds  are  useless. 
In  the  wild  state,  any 
winged  insect  which 

visits  the  plant  is  likely  to  alight  first  on  the  lip  or 
platform  of  one  or  other  of  the  outer  male  flowers. 
•In  his  search  for  honey,  which  is  secreted  by  the 
plant  at  the  base  of  the  petals  on  purpose  to  allure 
him,  the  flying  visitor  dusts  himself  over  abund- 
antly, though  unconsciously,  with  grains  of  pollen 
from  the  very  numerous  little  sacs  which  are 
placed  there  in  a  convenient  situation  with  that 


NO.  2. — THE   SEED-BAG,    CUT 
ACROSS. 


MARRIAGE  AMONG  THE  CLOVERS          99 

precise  object.  He  then  flies  away  to  the  female 
flower,  in  which  he  alights,  as  a  rule,  on  the  cen- 
tral sticky  portion  (called  by  botanists  the  stigma) : 
and  as  he  walks  over  it  in  search  of  the  honey  at 
the  base  of  each  petal,  he  turns  himself  round  and 
round  in  five  directions,  and  thus  unwittingly 
rubs  off  the  pollen  which  clings  to  his  legs  and 
hairs,  transferring  it  to  the  sticky  and  receptive 
surface.  After 
visiting  and 
fertilising  the 
female  flower  in 
the  centre  in  this 
manner,  he  then 
usually  pro- 
ceeds to  visit  the 
second  brother 
beside  it,  from 
which  he  carries 
away  pollen  in 

J      r  NO.  3. — MALE  BEGONIA    FLOWERS  IN  THE  BUD, 

turn  to  the  next  WITH  N0  SEED.BAG. 

plant  he  visits. 

The  object  of  this  curious  arrangement  is  that 
each  flower  may  be  fertilised  by  pollen  from 
another  blossom,  and,  as  far  as  possible,  in  many 
instances  at  least,  by  pollen  from  a  distinct  neigh- 
bouring plant.  But  you  will  gather  at  once  from 
what  I  have  said  already  that  each  plant  must  be 
regarded  in  strictness  not  as  an  individual,  but 
rather  as  a  community  or  commonwealth,  of  which 
the  leaves  and  flowers  are  the  separate  members 
told  off  to  perform  different  duties.  You  may 


IOO 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


compare  it,  indeed,  to  a  hive  of  bees,  the  leaves 
representing  the  workers,  while  the  .five-petalled 
flowers  are  analogous  to  the  queen-bees,  and  the 
four-petalled  blossoms  to  the  husbands  or  drones. 

Nay,   more :    those     of 
my   readers   who    have 
begonia  plants  of  their 
own    may    observe    for 
themselves  another  sin- 
gular    resemblance     to 
the  habits  and  manners 
of     honey-bees.       For 
after    the    drones    have 
done  their  work  in  life 
by  fertilising  the  queen- 
bee,  the  prudent  workers 
sting  them  to  death,  as 
being    useless     mouths, 
of    no    further    benefit 
to  the  community  ;  but 
the    queen -bee     neces- 
sarily   survives    to    be- 
come   the     mother     of 
young  swarms,  or  future 
generations.    If  she  were 
killed,   it   would   be   all 
up  with  the  community. 

Just  so  with  the  begonias  ;  as  soon  as  the  male 
flowers  have  performed  their  whole  duty  in  life, 
by  producing  and  disseminating  the  grains  of 
pollen  which  the  insects  carry  away  and  smear 
upon  the  sister  blossoms,  they  break  off  at  the 


NO.  4. — MALE   BEGONIA    FLOWER, 
FRONT   VIEW. 


MARRIAGE  AMONG  THE  CLOVERS 


101 


joint  shown  in  the  illustrations,  and  fall  to  the 
ground ;  the  plant  refuses  to  feed  them  any  longer, 
because  it  has  now  no  use  for  them  :  but  the 
fertilised  female  flowers  remain  fixed  on  their 
stems  to  produce  the 
seeds,  from  which  will 
spring  in  time  the 
future  generations. 

What,  however, do  I 
mean  by  fertilisation? 
Well,     each      pollen- 
grain,     when     closely 
examined      under     a 
microscope,  looks  like 
a    tiny    egg,    with    a 
very    thin    shell    and 
very      sticky,      active 
contents.     As  soon  as 
the   pollen-grains   are 
rubbed    all    over    the 
curly  branches  in  the 
centre   of   the 
flower,     they 
their    contents 
long      tubes, 
reach   at   last 


female 

empty 
down 

which 

to    the 

seeds;  and  under  this 
vivifying  influence,  the 

seeds  begin  to  swell  and  become  capable  of  pro- 
ducing young  plants.  The  pollen,  in  short,  has 
quickening  power.  It  is  for  the  sake  of  this  final 
result  alone  that  the  flowers  exist :  they  are  pro- 


NO.   5. — MALE   BEGONIA    FLOWER, 
BACK   VIEW. 


102  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

vided  with  bright -coloured  petals  as  advertise- 
ments to  let  the  insects  know  where  honey  may 
be  expected ;  they  secrete  the  sweet  liquid  itself 
in  order  to  induce  their  winged  allies  to  become 
common  carriers  of  pollen  for  the  benefit  of  the 
begonia  ;  and  as  soon  as  each  flower  has  served 
its  purpose  in  this  respect,  it  drops  off  or  is 
retained  by  the  plant  according  as  it  is  or  is  not 
wanted  in  future  for  its  seed-producing  properties. 
The  difference  between  the  brother  and  sister 
flowers  is  even  more  visible  in  the  bud  than  in  the 
fully  opened  blossom.  No.  3  shows  us  this  very 
well  in  the  case  of  an  unopened  male  blossom. 
Here  the  two  large  petals,  afterwards  used  as 
platforms  for  the  insect  to  alight  upon,  enclose 
the  smaller  pair  of  interior  ones,  as  well  as  the 
bunch  of  yellow  stamens.  But  as  these  stamens 
are  full  of  nutriment,  and  therefore  liable  to  be 
prematurely  attacked  by  useless  gnawing  insects, 
the  petal  above  them  is  thickened  in  this  part,  and 
in  one  of  the  species  most  cultivated  in  our  green- 
houses, but  not  figured  here,  is  provided  with  little 
protective  hairs,  which  baffle  and  keep  at  bay  all 
hungry  aggressors.  I  may  add  that  the  projecting 
wings  on  the  seed-vessel,  well  seen  in  No.  i,  and 
also  in  the  .section  in  No.  2,  serve  a  somewhat 
similar  purpose :  they  are  intended  to  prevent 
hostile  insects  from  laying  their  eggs  at  the  most 
vulnerable  points  in  the  capsule,  where  the  grubs 
would  destroy  the  seeds  within.  The  thickenings 
above  and  below,  also  to  be  observed  in  the  lower 
figure  of  No.  i,  perform  a  like  service.  They 


MARRIAGE  AMONG  THE  CLOVERS         103 

are  devices  of  the  mother  to  protect  her  young. 
You  will  thus  perceive  that  the  begonia  has  its 
friends  and  its  enemies  in  the  insect  world,  and 
that  while  it  does  its  best  to  conciliate  the  one,  it 
is  no  less  anxious  to  repel  the  other.  We  shall 
find  in  the  sequel  that  precisely  the  same  thing  is 
true  of  the  clovers. 

To  the  clovers  then,  which  are  our  proper  sub- 
ject, I  will  next  proceed.  And  I  began  with  the 
begonia  by  way  of  introduction,  only  because  that 
afforded  us  a  case  in  which  the  husbands  and  wives 
of  the  community  were  so  distinct  from  one  another 
that  nobody  with  a  pair  of  eyes  in  his  head  could 
fail  to  distinguish  them  when  they  were  once 
pointed  out  to  him.  In  the  clovers,  on  the  other 
hand,  we  have  a  much  more  complicated  arrange- 
ment, and  one  much  less  like  the  ordinary  cases 
with  which  we  are  familiar  in  the  animal  world. 
Here,  the  flowers  are  collected  in  heads  or  clusters, 
and  each  flower  is  in  itself  at  once  both  male  and 
female.  This  method,  indeed,  is  common  amongst 
plants  ;  it  occurs  in  by  far  the  greater  number  of 
species:  the  reason  why  I  started  with  the  begonia 
is  just  because  in  that  type  the  sexes  are  so  well 
and  clearly  separated  in  distinct  blossoms.  In  the 
clovers,  however,  each  separate  flower  resembles 
a  small  pea-blossom  in  shape,  having  four  petals, 
which  botanists  name  respectively,  from  below 
upwards,  the  keel,  the  two  wings,  and  the  stan- 
dard. These  petals  are  best  seen  in  the  single 
upstanding  flower  (or  "  old  maid  ")  represented  in 
No.  9.  They  are  enclosed  beneath  in  a  small 


104  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

greenish  calyx  or  cup,  and  they  contain  within  them 
ten  stamens  or  pollen-bags,  as  well  as  a  tiny  cap- 
sule like  a  miniature  pea-pod.  At  the  tip  of  this 
capsule  is  a  small  hook — the  sensitive  surface  on 
which  the  pollen  has  to  be  deposited.  You  would 
say  at  first  sight  that  under  such  circumstances, 
male  and  females  being  mixed  up  in  one,  cross- 
fertilisation  must  be  impossible — that  each  flower 
must  surely  be  fertilised  by  its  own  pollen.  But 
the  clever  clovers  have  invented  an  ingenious  little 
device  of  their  own  for  overcoming  this  difficulty  : 
the  pollen-bags  and  the  sensitive  surface  of  the 
capsule  do  not  arrive  at  maturity  together.  In 
this  way  each  flower  or  plant  gets  fertilised  itself 
at  one  time  by  pollen  from  another  plant,  and  at 
another  time  dusts  the  bee  that  visits  it  with  its 
own  pollen,  which  the  bee  transfers  in  due  course 
to  the  next  plant  it  visits.1 

No.  6  represents  part  of  a  plant  of  Dutch  clover 
— the  common  white  clover  of  our  meadows  and 
pastures.  It  is  called  Dutch,  not  I  believe  because 
it  is  particularly  common  in  Holland  more  than  in 
other  European  countries,  but  because  the  prudent 
Dutch  were  the  first  agriculturists  to  collect  and 
export  the  seed  of  this  particular  clover  separated 
from  all  other  seeds  of  similar  but  less  useful 
species.  It  happens  to  be  a  particularly  good 
fodder  plant,  and  it  grew  wild  originally  through- 
out the  whole  of  Europe  and  temperate  Asia,  from 
the  Mediterranean  to  the  north  of  Norway.  But 

1  I  hope  technical  botanists  will  forgive  me  some  slight  but  unimpor- 
tant simplifications  in  this  not  entirely  accurate  mode  of  presentation. 


MARRIAGE  AMONG  THE  CLOVERS 


105 


the  seed  has  now  been  sown  for  pasture  in  almost 
every  country  of  the  civilised  world,  so  that  wher- 
ever this  volume  circulates,  its  readers  can  find 
and  observe  the  plant  for  themselves,  "  to  witness 


NO.  6. — DUTCH  CLOVER,  BEFORE  MARRIAGE. 

if  I  lie/'  as  Macaulay's  Roman  poet  bluntly  puts  it. 
Dutch  clover  is  a  rather  smooth  specimen  of  its 
type,  not  nearly  so  hairy  or  silky  as  most  other 
clovers,  for  a  reason  which  I  will  explain  a  little 
later  on  :  it  has  prostrate  stems  which  creep  along 


106  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

the  ground,  as  shown  in  the  illustration,  and  root 
every  now  and  again  as  they  proceed,  somewhat  after 
the  same  fashion  as  strawberry-runners.  Like  all 
other  clovers,  it  has  trefoil  leaves,  each  of  the  three 
leaflets  in  which  is  usually  marked  with  a  curved 
spot  in  the  centre  resembling  a  horse-shoe.  But 
it  is  the  flower-heads  with  which  I  am  here  par- 
ticularly concerned.  These  are  raised  on  long, 
erect,  leafless  stems,  each  of  which  bears  on  its 
summit  a  globular  head  of  little  white  pea-flowers, 
often  delicately  tinged  with  pink  or  salmon.  The 
flowers  are  thus  lifted  to  a  considerable  height, 
because  this  clover  grows,  as  a  rule,  among  rather 
tall  grasses,  and  so  tries  to  push  up  its  blossoms 
to  a  height  where  they  may  receive  the  polite 
attentions  of  passing  insects. 

The  visitors  for  which  Dutch  clover  specially 
lays  itself  out  are  for  the  most  part  bees.  It  dis- 
dains small  pilferers.  Each  blossom  has  a  long 
tube  enclosing  its  honey,  and  only  insects  with  a 
correspondingly  long  proboscis  can  reach  its  deep 
store  of  delicious  nectar.  It  thus  saves  itself  from 
being  riflec}  uselessly  by  small  insect  riff-raff,  such 
as  flies  and  midges,  which  might  visit  the  flower, 
as  we  botanists  call  it,  "  illegitimately  " — that  is  to 
say,  might  rob  the  honey  without  conveying  the 
pollen  from  the  pollen-bags  of  one  head  to  the 
sensitive  surface  or  stigma  of  the  next.  The  parts 
of  the  flower,  in  fact,  are  specially  arranged  with  a 
definite  relation  to  the  head  and  the  honey-sucking 
tube  of  hive  bees  and  wild  bees,  which  cannot 
visit  it  without  dusting  themselves  over  with  pollen 


MARRIAGE  AMONG  THE  CLOVERS         107 

on  one  blossom  which  they  unconsciously  rub  off 
on  the  receptive  surface  of  the  next.  In  one  word, 
Dutch  clover  encourages  bees  for  its  own  purposes, 
because  they  are  useful  to  it,  while  it  places  ob- 
stacles in  the  way  of  smaller  and  useless  insects, 
by  burying  its  honey  in  a  deep  tube. 

The  head  of  Dutch  clover  shown  in  No.  6  is  one 
which  has  been  caught  just  at  the  very  first  moment 
of  flowering.  The  florets  or  blossoms  which  make 
up  the  head  begin  opening  from  without  and  below, 
inward  and  upward.  Thus  in  this  head  the  outer 
and  lower  florets  have  opened,  while  the  inner  and 
upper  ones  are  still  in  the  bud.  When  a  bee  visits 
such  a  head  of  clover,  he  comes  to  it  first  from 
another  head  of  the  same  kind  ;  for  bees  do  not 
usually  mix  their  liquors ;  on  one  round  of  visits 
they  confine  themselves,  as  a  rule,  to  a  single 
species  of  flower  only,  and  they  probably  store 
the  honey  of  each  kind  in  separate  cells,  just  as 
we  ourselves  in  our  wine-cellars  keep  one  bin  for 
champagne,  another  for  claret,  and  a  third  for 
Burgundy.  The  bee  thus  begins  with  the  outer 
flower  of  the  head,  which  he  fertilises  with  pollen 
from  the  last  plant  he  visited  ;  he  then  goes  on 
to  the  second  row,  where  he  dusts  himself  over 
with  pollen  for  another  flower-head  ;  and  the  buds 
in  the  centre  he  leaves  severely  unnoticed. 

As  soon  as  he  flies  away,  a  very  curious  thing 
begins  to  happen.  The  flowers  which  he  has 
unconsciously  fertilised  close  over  their  seed-vessel, 
and  grow  gradually  brown  or  withered.  At  the 
same  time,  as  you  see  in  No.  7,  they  turn  down 


io8 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


out  of  the  way  of  the  bees  by  bending  the  separate 
little  stalks  on  which  they  are  raised  in  the  head, 
and  tucking  themselves  tight  against  the  common 

flower  stem.  This  they 
do  partly  in  order  not 
to  confuse  and  worry 
their  allies  the  bees, 
but  partly  also  to  avoid 
certain  other  dangers 
to  which  I  will  recur 
later.  Plants  often 
try  in  such  ways  to 
save  bees  or  butterflies 
time  and  trouble,  be- 
cause the  easier  they 
make  matters  for  the 
bee  or  butterfly,  the 
more  likely  is  he  to 
visit  and  fertilise  them. 
He  is  a  useful  customer 
whom  they  desire  to 
conciliate.  If  a  bee  on 
his  rounds  finds  that 
any  particular  species 
of  plant  gives  him  un- 
necessary  trouble  in 

.  . 

gettmg     ^     the     hOUCV, 

he  is  apt  to  neglect  it 
and  pass  it  by,  in 

order  to  devote  himself  to  other  kinds  which  he 
sees  are  more  business-like  and  obliging.  The 
moment  he  comes  to  a  head  of  Dutch  clover,  then 


NO.  7—DUTCH  CLOVER,  THE  PER- 

TILISED       FLOWERS       TURNED 
DOWN,       THE       UNFERTILISED 

COURTING  THE  'BEES. 


MARRIAGE  AMONG  THE  CLOVERS 


109 


he  knows  at  once  that  he  may  safely  ignore  the 
dry  brown  flowers  tucked  away  against  the  stem, 
because  they  are  already  fertilised  and  honeyless  ; 
he  therefore  directs  all 
his  attention  to  the 
mature  and  open  flowers 
which  are  now  producing 
honey  and  ready  for  fer- 
tilisation. These  form 
practically,  as  you  will 
see,  at  each  moment  the 
outer  row  of  the  flower- 
head,  and  are  the  ones 
which  naturally  first  en- 
gage his  notice  as  he 
alights  on  the  cluster. 

No.  8  shows  us  the 
same  head  in  a  little  later 
stage  of  advancement. 
Here,  almost  all  the 
flowers  have  now  been 
fertilised,  and  they  are 
therefore  turning  their 
brown  and  faded  florets 
downward  against  the 
stem.  Two  among  them, 
which  the  bee  has  only 
just  left,  are  caught  in 
the  very  act  of  bending 

down,  so  as  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  any  further 
visitor.  The  flowers  in  the  centre,  which  are  still 
erect,  were  not  yet  opened  when  the  last  bee  paid 


NO.  8. — DUTCH  CLOVER,  WITH 
ALMOST  ALL  THE  FLOWERS 
FERTILISED,  AND  TWO  JUST 
TURNING  DOWN. 


1 10 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


a  passing  call  on  the  community.  They  have 
unfolded  their  petals  since,  and  are  now  standing 
up  awaiting  their  turn  to  be  visited  by  their  winged 
ally,  relieved  of  their  honey,  and  duly  fertilised. 

It  sometimes  takes 
four  or  five  days  for 
a  single  head  to  pass 
through  all  its  stages. 

In  No.  9  we  have  a 
truly  pathetic  picture 
of  a  solitary  old  maid, 
perked  up  desolate  and 
alone  in  the  midst  of 
her  happier  sisters. 
She  was  an  unopened 
bud  when  some  pass- 
ing honey  -  gatherer 
visited  and  set  the 
seeds  of  her  more  for- 
tunate relations.  The 
flower  on  her  left,  to 
be  sure,  has  only  just 
turned  ;  it  was  the  last 
to  receive  attention 
from  its  winged  allies. 


NO.  9-DUTCH   CLOVER,   A   SOLITARY 

OLD  MAID. 


If 


of   Dutch   clover,   you 
will    find    every    here 

and  there  such  a  solitary  old  maid.  But  you  must 
bear  in  mind  that  none  of  this  is  true  of  the 
common  purple  clover,  nor  yet  of  the  brilliant 
crimson  kind  (known  to  our  farmers  as  "  carna- 


MARRIAGE  AMONG  THE  CLOVERS 


in 


tion  trifolium  "),  both  of  which  are  distinct  species 
with  totally  different  marriage  customs.  The  in- 
genious habit  of  turning  the  fertilised  flowers 
downward  out  of  the  way  of  the  insects  is  con- 
fined to  a  few  species  of 
white,  pink,  and  yellow 
clovers.  It  is  a  little 
dodge  on  which  they 
happen  to  have  hit,  but 
which  has  never  oc- 
curred to  their  larger 
and  more  conspicuous 
red  and  purple  cousins. 
So  if  you  try  to  follow 
out  these  hints  in  nature, 
you  must  be  careful  to 
hunt  for  white  kinds 
only. 

No.  10  shows  us  the 
last  stage  in  the  life- 
history  of  a  head  of 
Dutch  clover.  All  the 
flowers  have  by  this 
time  been  fertilised ;  and 
each  flowrer  alike  is  now 
pressed  down  against 
the  stem  in  a  crumpled, 
brown,  and  withered- 
looking  mass.  The  mere 

casual  observer  would  say,  "This  clover  is  dead." 
But  it  is  nothing  of  the  kind:  it  is  only  shamming. 
The  main  object  of  the  flowering  and  fertilisation, 


NO.  10. — DUTCH  CLOVER,  ALL 
THE  FLOWERS  FERTILISED, 
AND  MATURING  THE  SEED. 


ii2  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

after  all,  is  the  production  of  seed  ;  just  as  among 
birds  the  main  object  of  pairing  and  nesting  is  the 
laying  of  eggs  and  the  hatching  of  their  little  ones. 
And  this  introduces  us  to  a  second  consideration 
of  great  importance.  Plants  take  care  of  their 
young.  The  seeds  of  clover  are  small,  but  they 
are  rich  in  foodstuffs  laid  by  for  the  use  of  the 
little  plant  at  its  start  in  life.  Now,  the  parent 
flower  is  well  aware  that  many  insects  love  to  lay 
their  eggs  and  hatch  out  their  grubs  in  pods  of  this 
character  ;  if  you  have  ever  shelled  peas,  you  must 
have  seen  such  grubs  very  frequently  in  the  pea-pods. 
The  maternal  instinct  of  the  mother  makes  her  lay 
her  eggs  where  food  is  abundant ;  the  maternal 
instinct  of  the  mother-plant  makes  it  do  its 
best  to  protect  its  young  against  such  devouring 
enemies. 

In  No.  ii  we  see  a  flower  of  Dutch  clover 
cut  open  lengthwise,  so  as  to  show  the  little  pod 
within,  very  much  magnified,  and  with  one  valve 
opened.  Tiny  as  these  pods  are,  they  usually 
contain  two,  three,  or  four  seeds.  Every  kind 
of  clover,  owing  to  the  richness  of  these  seeds, 
is  much  exposed  to  the  attacks  of  insect  enemies. 
To  baffle  these  wary  foes  the  clovers  have  invented 
an  extraordinary  variety  of  protective  devices,  two 
of  which  I  mean  to  examine  in  this  essay.  Dutch 
clover  meets  the  difficulty  by  tucking  down  the 
flowers  after  fertilisation  out  of  the  way  of  the  bee, 
and  then  retaining  the  withered  corolla  or  set  of 
petals  which  completely  enclose  and  hide  the  pod 
in  the  centre.  Indeed,  such  a  head  as  you  see  in 


MARRIAGE  AMONG  THE  CLOVERS 


No.  10,  all  composed  of  brown  and  withered 
flowers,  looks  externally  as  if  it  were  quite  dead  ; 
but  if  you  remove  or  cut  open  the  sere  and  papery 
outer  parts  of  the  flower,  you  will  find  within  them 
a  vigorous  little  green  pod,  in  which  the  minia- 
ture peas,  after  fertilisation,  are  maturing  actively. 
In  fact,  the  plant  is 
only  pretending  to 
be  dead  ;  yet  so 
effective  is  the  pre- 
tence, and  so  well 
does  the  papery 
covering  guard  each 
pod  against  the  egg- 
laying  insects,  that 
I  cannot  remember 
ever  to  have  found 
a  single  grub  in  the 
seeds  of  clover. 
This  may  seem  to 
you  a  small  matter 
to  guard  against  ; 
but  if  you  open 
the  seed-capsules  of 
the  common  little 
mouse  -  ear  chick- 
weed,  which  has  no  such  protection,  you  will  find 
in  almost  every  capsule  a  small  red  grub  busily 
employed  in  eating  the  seeds  which  the  plant  had 
laid  by  for  the  continuance  of  its  species.  It  is 
thus  a  distinct  advantage  to  the  clovers  in  the 
struggle  for  life  that  they  have  invented  devices 

H 


NO.  II.— DUTCH  CLOVER,  ONE  DRY 
FLOWER  CUT  OPEN  TO  SHOW  THE 
POD  AND  SEEDS  RIPENING. 


ii4  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

which  enable  them  to  guard  their  embryo  young 
from  the  assaults  of  insects. 

Every  species  of  clover — and  there  are  many 
— has  some  dodge  of  its  own  for  thus  protecting 
its  growing  pods  and  seeds  from  the  grubs  which 
would  destroy  them.  I  only  propose,  however, 
to  examine  in  detail  here  one  more  of  these 
dodges.  We  have  another  kind  of  clover,  a 
good  deal  like  Dutch  clover  at  a  casual  glance, 
and  commonly  confounded  with  it  by  unobservant 
people,  though,  as  we  shall  soon  see,  the  habits 
and  manners  of  the  two  kinds  are  in  reality 
very  different.  The  strawberry  clover,  as  it  is 
called,  is  a  somewhat  lower  and  smaller  species 
than  Dutch  clover,  which  it  resembles  in  its 
creeping  stems  and  in  its  rich  foliage.  But  the 
flowers  are  not  separately  stalked  in  the  head, 
so  that  they  cannot  turn  down  after  fertilisation 
like  those  we  have  just  been  considering.  More- 
over, the  stems  and  flower-heads  are  much  hairier; 
and  this  difference  is  due  to  the  two  facts  that  the 
strawberry  clover  is  smaller,  and  has  a  shorter  tube 
than  its  Dutch  relation.  It  would  thus  be  easy  for 
ants  and  other  crawling  insects  to  creep  up  the 
stem  and  steal  the  honey,  which  is  intended  for 
the  use  of  fertilising  visitors.  To  prevent  this  mis- 
fortune, and  to  keep  its  nectar  for  the  regular 
customers,  the  strawberry  clover  produces  a  num- 
ber of  hairs  on  the  stem,  which  baffle  the  ants,  to 
whom  such  hairs  are  an  impenetrable  thicket.  But 
you  may  ask,  "  Why  are  not  ants  just  as  good  as 
bees  for  the  clover  ? "  For  this  reason  :  flying 


MARRIAGE  AMONG  THE  CLOVERS         115 

insects  are  mainly  guided  by  sight  and  colour  ; 
they  flit  straight  from  one  flower  to  another  of  the 
same  species  ;  and  their  heads  are  exactly  adapted 


NO.  12. — STRAWBERRY   CLOVER,    WITH   FERTILISING   BEE. 


to  the  shape  of  the  flowers,  which  in  turn  have 
modelled  their  tubes  and  organs  on  purpose  to  fit 
them.  Ants  and  creeping  insects,  on  the  contrary, 
are  attracted  merely  by  the  sense  of  smell :  they 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


notice  scent  of  honey  ;  they  climb  up  all  stems 
indiscriminately  in  search  of  it ;  they  are  bare- 
faced thieves  with  no  organs  adapted  for  carrying 
pollen  ;  and  as  they  go  about  in  the  most  reckless 
fashion  from  one  kind  of 
plant  to  another,  if  they  did 
ever  by  chance  succeed  in 
fertilising  a  casual  flower, 
they  would  produce,  not  true 
species,  but  monstrous  and 
meaningless  hybrids.  There- 
fore, many  plants  protect 
themselves  by  endless  de- 
vices against  the  crawling 
ants,  just  as  obviously  as 
they  endeavour  to  allure  the 
winged  bees,  beetles,  and 
butterflies.  I  may  add  that 
the  head  of  strawberry  clover 
is  further  protected  against 
climbing  insects  by  a  num- 
ber of  lobed  bracts  at  its 
base,  which  effectually  dis- 
perse these  thieving  ma- 
rauders. 

NO.  13.— STRAWBERRY  CLOVER       While       the      strawberry 

BEGINNING  TO  SWELL.        clover     is     young    and    but 

recently  opened,  you  might 

easily  mistake  it  for  a  small  and  pinky  specimen 
of  Dutch  clover.  If  you  look  closer,  however,  you 
will  see  that  the  petals  are  not  so  large,  the  tube 
not  so  deep,  and  the  calyx  much  hairier.  Never- 


MARRIAGE  AMONG  THE  CLOVERS 


117 


theless,  as  you  may  observe  in  No.  12,  the  hairs 
do  not  seriously  get  in  the  way  of  the  bee  during 
the  stage  when  the  flowers  are  just  fit  for  ferti- 
lisation. As  soon  as  the  bee  has  left  the  plant, 
however,  something  happens  which  is  quite  different 
to  the  turning  down  of  the 
florets  in  Dutch  clover. 
The  calyx  or  little  cup  which 
encloses  each  separate 
flower  begins  to  swell  and 
inflate  itself  like  a  balloon 
or  bladder.  In  No.  13  you 
can  see  the  beginnings  of 
this  curious  process  ;  each 
calyx  is  slightly  swelling 
round  the  tiny  pod  which  it 
encloses.  In  Dutch  clover, 
the  pod  is  longer  than  the 
calyx,  and  the  plant  trusts 
for  protection  to  the  papery 
petals  or  corolla.  But  in 
strawberry  clover,  the  calyx, 
after  flowering,  becomes 
very  much  inflated,  thin, 
and  netted ;  and  in  this 
state  it  completely  encloses 
the  growing  pod.  No.  14 

illustrates  an  intermediate  stage  in  the  process, 
with  a  solitary  old  maid  still  unfertilised,  and  the 
other  flowers  larger  and  more  inflated.  In  No.  15 
the  inflation  is  complete  :  each  little  calyx  has  now 
swelled  out  into  a  small  balloon,  enclosing  its  pod. 


NO.   14. — STRAWBERRY   CLOVER, 
AGAIN    AN    OLD    MAID. 


iiS 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


The  whole  flower-head  then  becomes  very  com- 
pact, and  assumes  a  pink  tint,  so  that  it  somewhat 
resembles  a  strawberry,  whence  its  ordinary  name, 
though,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  is  much  more  like 

a  raspberry.  You  will 
observe  that  the  beautiful 
network  on  the  bladder- 
like  head  is  closely  covered 
with  numerous  hairs,  which 
further  help  to  protect  the 
pods  from  the  attacks  of 
insects. 

The  truth  is,  Dutch 
clover  is  a  denizen  of  rich 
and  lush  meadows,  where 
it  can  take  care  of  itself, 
and  for  which  alone  it  is 
perfectly  adapted.  Straw- 
berry clover,  on  the  other 
hand,  has  chosen  its  home 
in  close-cropped  pastures, 
where  its  creeping  habit 
and  low  stature  help  to  save 
it  from  destruction.  The 
dry  and  hairy  heads  are 


NO.   I5.-STRAWBERRY  CLOVER, 

ALL  THE  FRUIT  INFLATED,      you  will  often  see  them  left 
uncropped  where  the  neigh- 

bouring foliage  has  been  closely  nibbled.  The 
swollen  calyx  with  its  hairs  also  keeps  off  egg- 
laying  enemies.  In  No.  16  we  have  an  illustration 
of  one  such  fruiting  flower,  cut  open  lengthwise, 


MARRIAGE  AMONG  THE  CLOVERS 


119 


so  as  to  show  the  way  the  bladder-like  calyx  grows 
out  around  the  pod  as  it  ripens. 

Now,  what  is  oddest  of  all,  every  one  of  twenty 
or  twenty-five  species  of  clover  has  some  dodge  of 
its  own  for  protecting  its  seeds  after  fertilisation. 
This  shows  how  much  these  rich  grains  are  sought 
after,  and  how  carefully  the  plant  is  compelled  to 
guard  them.  In  some  kinds,  the  calyx  is  a  loose 
fluff  of  silky  hair,  enclosing  the  pod ;  in  others,  it 
is  hard  like  a  nut,  or  has 
stiff  and  pointed  lobes 
which  are  sharp  and 
prickly.  One  species 
closes  its  hardened  lips 
over  the  growing  seeds 
and  pretends  to  be 
empty  ;  a  second  de- 
velops a  starry,  thistle- 
like  head,  with  tufts  of 
thick  hair,  which  conceal 
the  swelling  pod  from 
observation, 
subterranean 
hit  upon  a 
device.  It  is 


NO.  l6. — STRAWBERRY  CLOVER,  A 
SINGLE  INFLATED  FLOWER 
CUT  OPEN. 


But  the 
clover  has 
still  stranger  and  more  ingenious 

a  little  creeping  annual,  much  ad- 


dicted to  dry  pastures  or  close-cropped  hillsides, 
and  particularly  common  on  low  knolls  or  barrows, 
nibbled  over  by  numerous  sheep  and  donkeys. 
Under  these  circumstances,  it  has  a  hard  fight  to 
protect  its  nutritious  seeds  and  seedlings.  It  has 
taken,  therefore,  to  producing  small  heads  of  loose 
white  flowers,  which  look  at  first  sight  like  poor 


i2o  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

specimens  of  Dutch  clover.  But  if  you  gaze  closer 
you  will  see  that  each  tiny  head  consists  of  two 
or  three  properly  developed  flowers,  with  four 
or  five  undeveloped  or  abortive  blossoms  in  the 
centre  of  the  group.  These  undeveloped  blossoms 
form  a  sort  of  living  corkscrew.  After  fertilisation, 
the  stems  bend  down  towards  the  ground  ;  the 
corkscrew-like  abortive  flowers  worm  their  way  by 
pushing  into  the  soil  ;  the  pods  are  pressed  down 
or  buried  in  the  loose  mould  ;  and  the  plant  thus 
sows  its  own  seed  for  itself  quite  as  effectually  as 
a  gardener  could  sow  it.  This  is,  perhaps,  the 
furthest  point  which  maternal  solicitude  has  ever 
reached  in  the  vegetable  kingdom. 


VI 

THOSE   HORRID   EARWIGS 

THIS  is  an  age  of  vindications.  Robespierre 
has  been  vindicated,  and  so  has  Marat  ; 
officious  apologists  have  attempted  to 
whitewash  the  unamiable  character  of  Richard  III.  ; 
Tiberius  has  been  described  as  "  a  wise  and  great 
ruler  "  ;  and  even  poor  Caligula  has  been  lamely 
excused,  on  the  ground  of  insanity,  for  such  play- 
ful little  freaks  as  making  his  favourite  saddle-horse 
a  Roman  consul.  Nobody's  reputation  is  safe 
nowadays  from  the  vindicator.  It  is  the  same  in  the 
animal  world.  New  light  is  constantly  being  cast 
on  the  idiosyncrasies  of  the  rattlesnake  ;  we  are 
assured  from  day  to  day  that  the  cobra,  though 
slightly  venomous,  is  an  excellent  wife  and  a 
devoted  mother  ;  the  scorpion  only  stings  when 
you  put  him  on  the  defensive  or  when  he  runs  for 
his  life  ;  and  the  tarantula,  we  are  told,  has  been 
most  unjustifiably  and  cruelly  blown  upon.  Has 
not  the  poet  of  "  The  Bad  Boy's  Book  of  Beasts  " 
informed  us  that — 

"  The  tiger,  on  the  other  hand,  is  kittenish  and  mild  ; 
He  makes  a  pretty  plaything  for  any  little  child  ; 
And  mothers  of  large  families  (who  claim  to  common  sense) 
Will  find  a  tiger  well  repay  the  trouble  and  expense." 


122  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

In  the  midst  of  all  these  vindications,  shall  the 
harmless,  unnecessary  earwig  go  unvindicated  from 
the  aspersions  that  too  often  assail  his  character  ? 
A  thousand  times,  no  !  Because  he  is  small,  he 
shall  not  be  insulted  with  impunity.  I  see  a  help- 
less animal  unduly  exposed  to  vile  detractions,  and 
openly  pursued  with  undeserved  asperity.  The 
sight  arouses  all  the  latent  chivalry  of  my  nature. 
I  will  gird  on  my  sword  to  do  battle  for  the  right, 
and  rush  in,  a  scientific  St.  George,  in  defence  of 
the  innocent  but  persecuted  earwig. 

That  my  hero  (or  heroine)  has  a  bad  name  in 
the  world  I  am  not  careful  to  deny.  Calumny  has 
dogged  it  from  its  earliest  days.  Its  very  name 
enshrines  a  myth  which  is  in  itself  a  libel.  It  is 
called  earwig,  gossips  will  tell  you,  because  it  creeps 
into  the  ears  of  incautious  sleepers  in  the  open  air, 
and  so  worms  its  way  to  the  brain,  where,  if  you  will 
believe  the  purveyors  of  folk-lore  natural  history, 
it  grows  to  a  gigantic  size,  "  as  big  as  a  goose's 
egg,"  and  finally  kills  its  unhappy  victim.  It  is 
true,  science  knows  nothing  of  this  form  of  brain- 
disease  ;  it  has  tried  the  case  before  an  impartial 
tribunal,  and  the  earwig  has  left  the  court  without 
a  stain  on  its  character.  Some  etymologists  have 
even  endeavoured  to  persuade  us  that  the  name 
earwig  itself  is  but  a  corruption  of  ear-wing,  a 
word  which  they  suppose  to  be  derived  from  the 
shape  of  its  flying  organs.  There,  however,  our 
philologists  are  surely  crediting  the  people  with 
more  knowledge  than  they  possess  ;  very  few  gar- 
deners or  countrymen  are  aware  that  earwigs  have 


THOSE  HORRID  EARWIGS  123 

wings,  while  the  general  public  never  sees  them 
flying.  Besides,  the  German  name  Ohrwurm,  or 
"  ear-worm,"  and  the  French  Perce-oreille,  or 
"  pierce-ear,"  suffice  to  show  that  the  myth  is  not 
confined  to  our  own  country.  All  over  the  world 
this  harmless  and  on  the  whole  beneficent  creature 
(for  he  is  a  good  scavenger)  is  regarded  with 
superstitious  fear  and  aversion  ;  all  over  the  world 
he  is  ruthlessly  destroyed  whenever  found  ;  and 
modern  science  alone  is  the  first  to  attempt  the 
herculean  task  of  rehabilitating  him. 

Before  you  begin  to  rehabilitate  anybody,  how- 
ever, it  is  first  desirable  to  know  something  about 
himself,  his  family,  and  his  antecedents.  I  will 
therefore  set  out  with  a  brief  description  of  the 
earwig  and  his  relations.  Almost  everybody  knows 
well  that  earwigs  are  black  little  creeping  insects, 
which  frequent  dark  spots,  avoid  the  light,  and 
love  to  take  refuge  under  stones  or  woodwork. 
The  earwig,  in  point  of  fact,  is  a  nocturnal  animal. 
Like  the  bat  and  the  owl,  he  hides  during  the 
daytime,  and  only  prowls  forth  at  night  in 
search  of  food  and  adventures.  Plain  as  he  is  to 
outward  view,  his  diet  might  suit  the  daintiest  of 
poets,  for  he  lives  for  the  most  part  on  the  petals 
of  flowers,  on  which  account  he  is  hated  with  a 
deadly  hatred  by  gardeners.  But  the  diet  of  the 
race  is  not  wholly  floral.  Earwigs  prefer  petals 
and  other  soft  parts  of  plants  ;  but  they  will  put 
up  with  leaves  or  growing  shoots,  and  even  feed  to 
a  small  extent  on  dead  or  decaying  animal  matter. 
That  they  are  fond  of  fruit  you  must  have  observed 


124 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


for  yourself  in  the  case  of  peaches  and  strawberries  ; 
though  I  fancy  they  never  attack  a  perfect  speci- 
men for  themselves.  My  own  experience  is  that 
they  wait  till  a  wasp  has  bored  a  hole  in  the  rind 
of  an  apricot  or  a  nectarine,  and  then  creep  in 

to  enlarge  it  by  their  ad- 
ditional efforts.  If  on  any 
such  occasion,  instead  of 
throwing  the  fruit  away 
in  disgust,  you  will  watch 
the  little  robbers  with  a 
pocket  lens,  you  may  (if 
fortunate)  have  a  chance 
of  observing  the  mode 
of  action  of  the  mouth 
organs.  That  is  the  diffe- 
rence between  the  point 
of  view  of  the  naturalist 
and  the  general  public. 
The  outsider  says  :  "  What 
a  nuisance  !  This  peach 
is  full  of  earwigs  ! "  The 
naturalist  says :  "  How 
NO.  i.— PORTRAIT  OF  A  GENTLE-  lucky  !  Now  I  shall  have 
MAN.  (OBSERVE  HIS  TAIL.)  a  chance  of  seeing  how 

he  uses  his  mandibles  ! " 

And  here  let  me  call  your  attention  in  passing 
to  the  portrait  of  a  male  earwig,  the  father  of 
a  large  family,  in  illustration  No.  i.  You  will 
observe  at  once  for  yourself  that  he  has  a  long 
body,  divided  as  a  whole  into  three  well-demar- 
cated portions.  In  front  comes  the  head,  with 


THOSE  HORRID  EARWIGS 


125 


its  two  beady-black  compound  eyes,  its  round 
upper  lip,  its  long  waving  antennae,  and  its  shorter 
jaw-feelers.  Next  to  the  head  come  the  three 
rings  or  segments  of  the  body  proper  (called, 
technically,  the  thorax),  each  ring  being  here  pro- 
vided with  a  pair  of  legs,  while  the  two  hinder 
rings  bear  also 
wings  or  wing- 
cases.  Last  of 
all  comes  the 
abdomen,  or 
tail,  with  its 
numerous  flex- 
ible rings,  of 
which  the  male 
has  one  more 
than  the  female. 
Notice  also  the 
powerful  pair  of 
pincers  at  the 
extremity  of  the 
tail,  which  are 
the  most  con- 
spicuous organs 
in  the  full-grown 
insect :  they  are 

more  curved  in  the  father  of  the  family  than  in 
his  faithful  spouse,  and  are  likewise  provided  in 
his  case  with  curious  teeth  or  indentations.  The 
use  and  meaning  of  all  these  parts  will  come 
out  in  detail  as  we  proceed  with  our  inquiry  ; 
for  the  present,  I  will  content  myself  with  calling 


NO.  2. — PORTRAIT  OF  A  LADY. 


126  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

your  attention  to  the  fact  that  "  that  horrid  earwig  " 
is  a  far  handsomer  animal  when  you  come  to  ex- 
amine him  at  close  quarters  than  you  were  inclined 
to  believe  on  a  casual  and  disgusted  summary  in- 
spection. Confess  now  that  his  beautifully  jointed 
legs,  his  translucent  thighs,  his  toothed  pincers 
or  forceps,  and  his  feathery  antennae  are  "very 
much  finer  than  anything  you  expected  from 
him  when  you  first  saw  him. 

In  No.  2  Mr.  Enock  has  given  us  the  counter- 
feit presentment  of  the  earwig's  wife,  for  com- 
parison with  the  portrait  of  her  noble  lord.  You 
will  observe  at  a  glance  that  she  differs  from  her 
mate  in  two  main  particulars  only.  She  has  one 
less  segment  to  her  tail  ;  and  her  pincers,  which 
are  toothless,  are  almost  straight  and  nearly 
parallel.  The  air  of  distinction  which  the  hus- 
band thus  gains  over  his  wife  is  almost  as  marked 
as  that  which  is  given  to  man  over  woman  by 
a  couple  of  inches  additional  height,  and  by  the 
noble  appendage  of  a  pair  of  black  moustaches. 
Compare  the  two  as  you  see  them  in  the  illus- 
trations, and  you  will  never  again  have  a  doubt 
as  to  the  real  nature  of  masculine  superiority. 
If  you  are  a  man,  indeed,  I  don't  suppose  you 
have  ever  had  one.  I  have  called  the  earwig 
black,  but  that  is  only  true  on  a  general  survey. 
In  reality,  the  head  is  rich  chocolate  brown,  with 
the  many-faceted  compound  black  eyes  standing 
out  against  it ;  the  legs  are  amber-coloured,  the 
jointed  antennae  are  pale  amber,  and  the  wing- 
cases  are  transparent  or  horn-like  in  colour. 


THOSE  HORRID  EARWIGS  127 

Now,  these  two  faithful  portraits  represent  the 
earwig  as  we  all  best  know  him — the  common 
or  garden  earwig,  engaged  in  crawling  about 
during  the  hours  of  sunshine,  and  seeking  some 
cranny  where  he  may  hide  himself  from  the 
light  that  irks  and  distresses  him.  But  there  is 
another  side  to  earwig  life  which  in  all  proba- 
bility you  have  never  suspected.  While  day  lasts 
the  earwig  shelters  himself  underground,  or  lies 
hid  beneath  stones  or  in  the  crevices  of  bark. 
But  when  night  arrives,  oh,  then  he  sallies  forth, 
on  love  and  feasts  inclined  ;  he  seeks  his  dusky 
mate,  or  battens  on  pink  rose-petals.  Then  is 
the  time  to  see  him  flying  abroad  on  expanded 
wings  ;  and  then  is  the  time  when  he  really 
enjoys  existence,  till  some  late-flying  swallow  or 
prowling  bat  puts  an  end  to  his  brief  revels. 

"  But  I  never  knew  earwigs  flew ! "  you  ex- 
claim. "  I  never  thought  they  had  wings.  Those 
I  have  seen  were  always  creeping  and  crawling." 

That  is  quite  true  ;  and  in  this  matter  I  will 
not  deceive  you.  The  common  earwig  does  really 
fly  ;  but  he  is  an  infrequent  aeronaut.  Indeed, 
I  believe  he  seldom  uses  his  wings  except  when 
he  is  courting  or  changing  his  residence.  How- 
ever, there  is  a  smaller  species  of  earwig,  not 
minutely  discriminated  from  the  common  sort  by 
housewives  and  gardeners  (who  kill  all  the  race 
impartially),  but  known  to  entomologists  as  Labia 
minor.  This  lesser  member  of  the  tribe  may  often 
be  seen  disporting  himself  on  the  wing  on  warm 
afternoons  in  summer;  and  even  the  larger  ear- 


128  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

wig  occasionally  ventures  out  after  dark  in  the 
same  manner.  The  approved  method  of  taking  ear- 
wigs on  the  wing  is  by  means  of  a  tarred  board, 
on  which  they  may  be  caught  in  small  numbers. 
When  the  broad  transparent  wings  are  expanded, 
they  are  really  beautiful  and  striking  objects. 


NO.  3. — FEMALE   EARWIG   WITH    HER   WINGS   EXPANDED. 

What  becomes  of  the  wings,  however,  when 
the  insect  is  at  rest  or  crawling  ?  Well,  they  are 
almost  invisibly  tucked  up  in  a  most  curious  and 
marvellous  way  under  the  horny  outer  pair,  or 
wing-cases.  In  beetles,  the  horny  front  pair  or 
wing-cases  completely  cover  and  hide  the  hind 


THOSE  HORRID  EARWIGS 


129 


pair  or  flying  wings.  But  earwigs  are  in  many 
ways  a  less  advanced  and  perfect  group  than  the 
beetle  tribe  ;  as  we  shall  see  hereafter,  they  are 
a  rather  primitive  tribe,  only  half  way  up  in  the 
scale  of  development  towards  the  highest  insects. 
And  among  their  imperfections  one  may  mention 


NO>  4.— BEGINNING   TO   CLOSE. 

this — that  the  hind  wings  are  only  partially  covered 
by  the  front  pair  or  wing-cases. 

When  I  say  so,  however,  I  do  not  mean  to 
be  unkind  to  the  earwig,  who,  within  his  own 
limitations  (as  we  say  of  minor  poets),  must  be 
looked  upon  as  one  of  the  most  marvellous  and 
complicated  of  animals.  And  I  propose  to  illus- 


130 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


trate  this  fact  for  you  in  a  single  direction  by 
a  brief  consideration  of  the  way  in  which  he  folds 
and  tucks  away  his  pinions  when  he  has  done 
with  them. 

No.  3  represents  a  female  earwig  in  flight,  with 
the  thin,  transparent  wings  fully  expanded.     You 

will  notice  here 
that  the  first 
pair,  or  wing- 
cases,  which 
are  hard  and 
horny,  are  held 
open  in  front 
out  of  the  way ; 
and  that  the 
second  pair,  or 
true  wings,  are 
flat  and  papery 
behind,  but 
have  a  curious 
horny  rib  or 
"  stiffener  "  in 
their  front  por- 
tion. This  stif- 
fener acts  ex- 
actly like  the 

whalebone  or  steel  in  a  pair  of  corsets,  or  like 
the  ribs  in  an  umbrella.  The  beautiful  folds 
and  creases  in  the  true  wings  resemble  those 
in  a  fan  or  Japanese  parasol  ;  but  they  run  two 
ways,  some  lengthwise,  and  some  transversely. 
They  are  exquisitely  true  in  their  wrinkles,  and 


NO.  5. — DOUBLING    UP  THE   FORE-WING 
FANWISE. 


THOSE  HORRID  EARWIGS 


enable  the  insect  to  shut  up  the  wing  with  perfect 
accuracy. 

No.  4  and  the  subsequent  illustrations  show 
us  the  various  stages  in  the  very  complicated 
closing  process  ;  and  Mr.  Enock  has  so  drawn 
them  for  me  as  to  let  us  follow  in  detail  every 
step  in  this  won- 
derful piece  of 
insect  jugglery. 
Cinquevalli  him- 
self does  nothing 
more  admirable. 
To  see  an  ear- 
wig close  her 
wings  is  a  study 
in  the  perfection 
of  Nature's  me- 
chanism. In  No. 
4  itself,  which  is 
the  first  of  the 
series,  the  rib 
or  stiffener  is 
just  slightly  de- 
pressed, SO  aS  tO  NO.  6.— A  STAGE  FURTHER. 

make  the  tip  of 

the  wing  drop  a  little.  In  No.  5,  the  stiffener 
bends  at  the  joint  in  the  middle,  and  thus 
makes  the  edge  of  the  wing  curl  inward  like 
a  fan,  the  pleats  folding  neatly  with  the  utmost 
precision.  With  the  stage  illustrated  in  No.  6, 
the  wing  begins  to  flap  ;  and  in  No.  7,  the  first 
part  of  it  disappears  round  the  corner,  while 


'32 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


the  remainder  turns  up  like  a  hinge  at  the  in- 
termediate cross-nerves.  In  No.  8,  we  find  the 
wing  constricted  in  the  middle  by  the  process 
of  folding  ;  while  in  No.  9,  the  back  part  has 
been  nicely  tucked  away  behind  the  front  por- 
tion, so  that  the 
whole  simulates 
for  a  moment  a 
pair  of  separate 
wings.  In  Nos. 
i  o  and  1 1,  again, 
the  folding  still 
continues,  till  the 
muscles  which 
move  the  wings 
have  done  as 
much  as  they 
can  do  in  the 
way  of  tighten- 
ing up,  by  their 
unaided  efforts. 
And  now  comes 
in  the  use  of  the 
tail  with  its  curi- 
ous appendages; 

and  very  odd  it  is.      The  pincers  supplement  the 
action  of  the  wing-muscles. 

As  soon  as  the  earwig  has  reached  the  point 
of  closing  represented  in  No.  n,  she  suddenly 
turns  up  her  tail  from  behind,  as  you  can  see 
in  No.  12,  opens  her  forceps,  and  applies  the 
sharp  points  of  the  pincers  to  the  recalcitrant 


NO.    7. — THE   BACK    PART    FOLDING 
HINGE-WISE. 


THOSE  HORRID  EARWIGS 


133 


wing-tip,   which  will    not   close    of   its   own    mere 
motion.     Then,   as   you    can   observe  in    No.    13, 
she  rapidly  clips  the  pincers  together,  thus  tucking 
in  the  last  bit  of  the  wing  much  as  a  hand  might 
do  it.     After  that,  she  straightens  her  body  again, 
as    in    No.    14, 
and     is     ready 
to    replace    the 
folded  wings  be- 
hind   the    hard 
wing-covers.  Of 
course,    all   this 
process,     which 
we  have  repre- 
sented   here    in 
detail  in  its  vari- 
ous stages,  only 
occupies  in   life 
a  few  brief   se- 
conds;   so   per- 
fect and  so  au- 
tomatic   is    the 
mechanism  that 
the  earwig  man- 
ages it  all  as  readily  as  a  lady  closes  up  her  fan 
and  reopens  it. 

In  No.  15,  our  earwig  is  shown  in  the  act  of 
replacing  the  folded  wings  over  the  abdomen ; 
while  the  hard,  horny  wing-case  is  beginning  to 
cover  them.  In  No.  16  she  has  folded  them  quite 
back,  but  has  lifted  the  wing-cases  again,  as  if  to 
fly  off  once  more  ;  this  illustration  exhibits  the 


NO.  8. — A   SECOND   LATER. 


134 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


size  of  the  wings  when  fully  folded,  and  enables 
you  to  understand  their  true  relation  to  the  outer 
wing-cases.  Reverting  now  to  No.  2,  the  me- 
chanism is  seen  once  more  completely  closed  up, 
and  the  earwig  is  prepared  to  crawl  about  on  the 
ground  in  its  usual  sedate  and  humdrum  manner. 

But  if,  after  this, 
you  ever  de- 
spise those  hor- 
rid earwigs,  I 
shall  think  you 
have  no  taste 
for  the  wonder- 
ful in  nature. 

Perhaps,  how- 
ever, the  most 
marvellous 
point  in  the 
history  of  the 
female  earwig 
is  the  fact  that 
she  sits  on  her 
eggs  and  takes 
care  of  her 
young  exactly 
as  a  hen  does. 

She  retires  underground  to  lay  her  eggs,  which  she 
deposits  in  some  safe  and  convenient  cranny — 
usually  ready-made  for  her.  She  is  not  herself  a 
good  digger,  like  the  mole-cricket,  nor  has  she  feet 
specially  adapted  for  clearing  away  the  soil  ;  she 
therefore  takes  advantage  of  accidental  cracks  in 


NO.  9. — THE   HIND   PART   FOLDS   BENEATH 
THE   FORE. 


THOSE  HORRID  EARWIGS 


the  ground  (being  a  cave-dweller,  not  an  exca- 
vator), and  is  particularly  fond  of  following  the 
disused  burrows  of  earth-worms.  You  must  re- 
member that  the  surface-soil  is  literally  honey- 
combed with  burrows  of  worms,  which  are  not 
mere  holes,  but  neat  small  tubes,  cylindrical  in 
outline,  carefully 
engineered,  and 
lined  throughout 
with  a  layer  of 
fine  earth,  as 
solid  asconcrete. 
The  mouth  of 
the  burrow  is 
also  frequently 
papered  with 
dead  leaves,  ce- 
mented to  the 
wall  by  a  sticky 
secretion  from 
theworm's  body. 
These  under- 
ground tunnels 
often  penetrate 
the  earth  to  a 

depth  of  many  inches,  and  occasionally  go  down  as 
much  as  six  or  seven  feet.  They  thus  form  excel- 
lent approaches  or  adits,  which  the  earwig  can  use  in 
prospecting  a  suitable  cranny  for  her  own  nursery. 
If  you  ask  why  the  worm  does  not  expel  the 
intruder,  or  stick  up  a  notice  to  say  that  trespassers 
will  be  prosecuted,  I  would  point  out  in  reply 


NO.   10. — THE   PROCESS   CONTINUED. 


136 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


that  hundreds  of  such  tunnels  are  rendered  tenant- 
less  each  day  by  means  of  thrushes,  starlings,  and 
other  worm-eating  birds,  which  prowl  about  lawns, 
gardens,  and  meadows,  picking  out  the  earth- 
worms as  fast  as  they  show  their  noses  above  the 
level  of  the  soil  ;  while  hundreds  more  are  made 

desolate  by 
moles  and  cen- 
tipedes. There 
is  thus  never 
any  lack  of 
empty  burrows 
which  the  ear- 
wig can  appro- 
priate, as  the 
hermit-crab  ap- 
propriates the 
empty  shells  of 
whelks  and  peri- 
winkles. 

In  No.  17  we 
see  the  mother 
earwig  safely 
installed  in  a 
nice  under- 
ground nest, 

and  sitting  like  a  hen  on  the  eggs  she  has  de- 
posited within  it.  You  can  dig  up  such  nests 
and  eggs  in  any  garden  in  January  and  February. 
Mr.  Knock  tells  me  he  sometimes  finds  them  at 
a  depth  of  six  inches.  The  average  number  of 
eggs  in  a  brood  runs  from  fifty  to  sixty.  The 


NO.  II.— THE   WINGS  THEMSELVES   CAN 

GO  NO  FURTHER;  so — 


THOSE  HORRID  EARWIGS 


137 


good  mother  sits  on  them  till  they  are  all  hatched 
out,  and  even  then  continues  to  watch  them,  as  a 
hen  does  her  chicks,  till  they  have  arrived  at  years, 
or  rather  weeks,  of  discretion. 

No.  1 8  is  a  portrait  of  the  earwig  and  her 
numerous  family  in  their  first  condition.  And 
this  picture  leads 
us  up  to  one 
most  interesting 
point  in  the  ear- 
wig's develop- 
ment. You  will 
notice  here  that 
the  young  in- 
sects closely  re- 
semble their 
mother  in  most 
respects  —  far 
more  closely 
than  a  cater- 
pillar resembles 
its  butterfly  ; 
they  have  the 
same  sort  of 

head,  the  same  sort  of  body,  the  same  sort  of  tail, 
and  the  same  peculiar  pincers  ;  but  they  are  quite 
wingless.  Now,  this  brings  out  in  a  very  clear  way 
their  analogies  to  and  their  differences  from  most 
higher  insects ;  it  enables  us  to  form  a  distinct 
idea  of  the  origin  of  that  standing  miracle,  the 
metamorphosis  of  the  maggot  into  the  fly  and  of 
the  caterpillar  into  the  butterfly. 


NO.    12. — THK    TAIL   COMES    IN    TO    HELP 
THEM. 


138 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


Some  insects  have  wings,  and  some  have  none  ; 
but  among  insects  with  none,  we  may  distinguish 
two  classes :    those   whose   progenitors  could   fly, 
but    who   have   themselves   degenerated   so   as   to 
become  wingless  ;  and  those  who  never  had  wings 
at  all,  but  represent  the  primitive  non-flying  an- 
cestor.     Several 
of     these    early 
wingless      types 
still     persist     to 
the  present  day  ; 
and     they    very 
closely  resemble 
the     young      of 
the       earwigs. 
They      have      a 
head       with       a 
couple    of    wav- 
ing      antennae  ; 
they  have  a  body 
of      three      seg- 
ments,   each    of 
which    bears     a 

pair  of  legs,  but  no  wings ;  they  have  a  long, 
jointed  abdomen  ;  and  at  its  end  they  have  two 
appendages,  which,  though  not  specialised  into 
pincers,  distinctly  suggest  the  forceps  of  the  earwig. 
Indeed,  if  the  baby  earwigs  always  remained  in 
their  first  larval  stage,  we  might  easily  mistake 
them  for  some  of  these  primitive  wingless  crea- 
tures. No.  19  is  a  rough  sketch  of  such  an  early 
type  of  non-flying  insect,  by  name  Campodea. 


NO.  IJ. — THE    USE   OF   THE    PINCERS. 


THOSE  HORRID  EARWIGS 


139 


The  young  earwig,  however,  does  not  stop 
short  at  this  point.  When  born  or  hatched  from 
the  egg,  he  closely  resembles  his  parents  in  most 
respects,  and  as  he  grows  and  moults,  he  becomes 
at  each  change  more  and  more  like  them,  till  at 
last  he  is  justly  considered  "the  very  image  of 
his  father."  At 
a  certain  stage 
in  his  develop- 
ment, indeed, 
we  find  that 
on  two  seg- 
ments or  rings 
of  the  body, 
two  promin- 
ences or  protu- 
berances begin 
to  make  their 
appearance. 
These  are  the 
rudiments  of 
the  wings  and 
wing-cases, 
which  grow  gra- 
dually under  the 
skin,  and  be- 
come fully  developed  after  the  last  moulting.  We 
may  fairly  take  it  for  granted,  therefore,  that  in 
this  case  the  young  earwig  when  first  hatched  out 
resembles  the  original  wingless  ancestor  of  the 
race  ;  but  as  time  goes  on,  he  begins  to  assume 
the  various  forms  which  the  race  has  passed 


NO.   14. — THE   TAIL   STRAIGHTENED 
OUT   AGAIN. 


140 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


through  in  its  advance  to  the  modern  winged 
condition.  In  other  words,  the  metamorphosis 
of  the  individual  sums  up  for  us  in  brief  the 
evolution  of  the  kind. 

Observe,   however,  that  the  young  earwigs   do 
not    pass   through    any  distinct    and   well-marked 

stages  of  larva, 
pupa,  and  imago 
—  grub,  chrys- 
alis, and  butter- 
fly —  like  their 
more  advanced 
relations.  It  is 
true,  the  names 
of  larva  and 
pupa  are  fre- 
quently given  to 
the  two  earlier 
phases  in  the 
life  of  the  ear- 
wig and  its 
allies.  But  the 
terms  are  mis- 

NO.    15.  —  REPLACING   THE   WINGS   BENEATH       applied  All 

THE   WING-CASES.  ' 


to     the     earwig 

is  a  gradual  series  of  successive  moults  ;  and 
during  one  of  these  moults  the  wings  make  their 
appearance.  Moreover,  the  young  earwig  when 
just  hatched  out  of  the  egg  (as  you  can  see 
in  No.  1  8)  resembles  its  mother  in  everything 
essential  save  in  the  possession  of  wings.  There 


THOSE  HORRID  EARWIGS 


141 


is  no  real  metamorphosis',  or  a  very  imperfect 
one  ;  hardly  more  change,  indeed,  than  takes 
place  in  the  growth  of  humanity  ;  for  the  acquisi- 
tion of  walking  and  the  addition  of  a  beard  and 
other  adult  adjuncts  may  fairly  be  compared  to 
the  development  of  the  wings  in  the  growing  ear- 
wig. It  is  quite 
otherwise  with 
those  insects 
which  under- 
go a  complete 
metamorph- 
osis, like  bees 
and  butterflies. 
The  young 
grub  in  the 
comb  does  not 
in  the  least  re- 
semble the  full- 
grown  bee, 
whether  queen 
or  drone,  or 
worker ;  the  ca- 
terpillar does 
not  in  the 
least  resemble 
the  beautiful  full-grown  moth  or  butterfly. 

And  here  we  get  another  curious  piece  of  cross- 
relationship  ;  for  while  the  young  earwig  only 
"  throws  back  "  to  a  primitive  six-legged,  wingless 
insect,  such  as  the  one  figured  in  No.  19,  the 
young  bee  or  butterfly  "  throws  back "  to  a  far 


NO.   l6. — THE   WINGS   AT   REST;   THE   WING- 
CASES   RAISED   AGAIN. 


142  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

earlier  stage,  and  is  hatched  out  in  the  form  of 
a  crawling  worm — a  type  which  must  have  be- 
longed to  a  much  more  original  ancestor.  It 
passes  the  first  stage  of  its  life  in  this  worm-like 
form,  but  it  does  not  grow  by  slow  degrees,  like 
the  earwig,  into  its  final  shape.  On  the  contrary, 
it  suddenly  boxes  itself  up  one  day  in  a  pupa-case, 


NO.   17. — THE   MOTHER    EARWIG   SITTING   ON    HER   EGGS. 

or  chrysalis,  lies  by  dormant  for  a  while,  rearranges 
its  parts  entirely,  and  then  rapidly  develops  into  a 
wholly  different  creature — a  bee  or  wasp,  or  moth 
or  beetle.  The  earwig's  change  is  growth  ;  the 
butterfly's  is  a  transformation  scene. 

How  are  we  to  explain  these  facts  ?  I  think  in 
this  way.  Long,  long  ago,  the  common  progenitor 
of  all  the  insect  tribes  was  a  worm-like  creature, 


THOSE  HORRID  EARWIGS  143 

with  a  soft  and  fleshy  body,  a  few  jointed  legs,  and 
the  general  appearance  of  a  grub  or  caterpillar. 
To  this  very  ancient  and  somewhat  shadowy 
ancestor  the  larvae  of  the  higher  insects  still  more 
or  less  revert  in  their  earlier  stages  ;  and  we  may 
believe  that  many  insects  so  reverted  during  many 
generations.  But  in  process  of  time  the  primitive 


NO.  l8. — THE   MOTHER   EARWIG  AND   HER   BROOD   OF   CHICKS. 


type  developed  into  a  wingless,  six-legged  form, 
like  that  in  No.  19 — a  form  which  you  can  see  at 
once  marks  a  comparatively  great  advance  upon 
the  old,  worm-like  progenitor.  This  animal,  you 
can  note,  has  six  good  legs  to  run  about  with,  and 
is  already  provided  with  a  well-marked  head,  and 
with  the  three  body-rings  and  the  long  tail  or 
abdomen  so  characteristic  to  the  last  of  all  higher 
insects.  Its  segments  have  been  specialised.  From 


144  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

such  a  type,  it  is  probable  the  earwigs  and  their 
allies  were  developed  by  natural  selection.  But 
to  this  day  every  earwig  begins  life  in  a  shape 
which  closely  resembles  that  of  his  first  six-legged 
ancestor,  and  only  gradually 
acquires  his  wings  and  other 
distinctively  earwig-like  features. 
If  you  wonder  how  an  animal 
so  small  as  an  earwig  can  do  all 
the  damage  it  undoubtedly  does 
in  gardens,  a  glance  at  No.  20 
will  explain  the  mystery.  You 
will  see  from  this  sketch  that  the 
mouth-organs  of  the  little  beast 
are  admirably  adapted  for  de- 
stroying the  petals  of  your 
choicest  flowers.  Nature  has 
provided  the  earwig  with  a; 
beautiful  series  of  instruments; 
for  cutting  holes  in  leaves  and 


NO.   I9.-CAMPODEA,  A 

PRIMITIVE  WINGLESS  the  lower  part  of  the  mouth, 
INSECT.  and  is  covered  when  at  rest  by 

After  sir  John  Lubbock.  the  upper  part,  which  is  here 
placed  below  it.  M  are  the 
mandibles  or  cutting  jaws;  they  are  formidable 
implements  employed  to  saw  holes  in  leaves, 
petals,  or  seed-capsules  ;  while  C  is  the  clypeus 
or  shield  —  in  other  words,  the  upper  lip,  which 
acts  as  a  patent  protector  for  the  whole  deli- 
cate apparatus.  ^S  are  the  antenna  sockets, 
the  feelers  themselves  having  been  removed  for 


THOSE  HORRID  EARWIGS 

the  purposes  of  this  sketch.  The  other  parts  of 
the  mechanism,  I  regret  to  say,  can  only  be  de- 
scribed in  painfully  technical  language  ;  but  as  I 
am  generally  sparing  in  my  use  of  technicalities, 


5. 


NO.  20. — THE  EARWIG'S  MOUTH,  DISSECTED. 


I  trust  I  may  be  forgiven  this  solitary  slip  on  the 
ground  of  previous  good  conduct.  L  is  the  labium 
or  lower  lip,  which  closes  the  mouth  from  below 
when  it  is  not  in  action.  LP  are  the  labial  palpi, 


K 


146  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

used  in  manipulating  the  morsel  as  it  is  being 
eaten.  MX  are  the  maxillae,  or  true  jaws,  employed 
in  masticating  the  food,  and  answering  in  their 
functions  pretty  closely  to  the  teeth  of  higher 
animals.  Last  of  all,  MP  are  the  maxillary  palpi, 
chiefly  used  like  a  pair  of  forks  in  holding  the 
food,  and,  perhaps,  also  in  deciding  whether  it  is 
fit  for  eating.  From  this  brief  description,  it  will 
be  immediately  obvious  to  you  that  feeding  with 
the  earwig  is  a  solemn  and  very  complicated 
process.  It  is  carried  on  by  a  number  of  distinct 
organs  and  implements,  the  exact  purposes  of  each 
of  which  are  only  known  at  full  to  the  insect  which 
uses  them. 

I  should  add  that  the  antennae  or  feelers  (not 
included  in  this  last  sketch,  but  conspicuous  in 
all  the  previous  illustrations)  are  in  all  likelihood 
sense-organs,  whose  precise  nature  has  never  been 
altogether  established.  Some  naturalists  believe 
that  they  are  used  as  organs  of  smell  ;  others  that 
they  are  combined  organs  of  touch  and  guidance  ; 
yet  others,  that  they  are  the  seat  of  a  "  sixth  sense  " 
unknown  to  humanity.  However  this  may  be,  it  is 
at  least  certain  that  they  are  useful  as  a  means  of 
communication  between  the  insect  himself  and  his 
mate,  his  young,  his  friends,  and  his  acquaintances. 
Earwigs  clearly  feel  their  way,  to  a  great  extent, 
by  the  aid  of  the  antennae,  and  also  recognise 
through  them  their  visitors  and  family.  They  use 
'  them,  too,  in  caressing  or  fondling  their  mates  and 
their  children.  It  is  known  that  the  antennae  are  pro- 
vided with  numerous  nerve-terminals,  as  is  always 


THOSE  HORRID  EARWIGS  147 

the  case  with  organs  of  the  senses  ;  and  I  believe 
myself  that,  by  their  means,  all  insects  of  the  same 
species  are  able  to  communicate  more  or  less  with 
one  another  by  established  signals.  Perhaps  the 
antennae  emit  peculiar  perfumes,  which  are  recog- 
nised in  turn  by  those  of  the  friend  or  mate  ;  per- 
haps it  is  by  touches  and  strokes  that  the  insects 
transmit  their  ideas  to  one  another.  But  that  they 
do  transmit  ideas,  nobody  who  has  watched  them 
closely  ever  doubts  for  a  moment,  and  many 
naturalists  even  use  the  word  "  talking "  of  the 
parleys  which  ants  and  other  insects  carry  on  with 
their  feelers. 

It  may  be  thought  that  an  earwig's  life,  like  a 
policeman's,  "  is  not  a  happy  one."  This  I  hold 
to  be  an  error.  The  earwig  loves  damp  and  dark- 
ness, it  is  true,  but  he  flies  at  night  in  the  beautiful 
twilight  or  by  the  soft  rays  of  the  moon,  while  his 
days  are  solaced  by  the  companionship  of  his  mate 
and  his  chosen  comrades,  for  they  are  gregarious 
creatures.  The  mother  tends  her  young  with  the 
assiduity  of  a  hen  sitting  on  her  chickens,  and  food 
being  abundant  and  cheap,  life  runs,  as  a  rule, 
fairly  smoothly  with  the  earwig. 


VII 

THE     FIRST     PAPER- MAKER 

THE  civilised  world  could  hardly  get  on 
nowadays  without  paper  ;  yet  paper- 
making  is,  humanly  speaking,  a  very 
recent  invention.  It  dates,  at  furthest,  back  to  the 
ancient  Egyptians.  "  Humanly  speaking,"  I  say, 
not  without  a  set  purpose  ;  because  man  was 
anticipated  as  a  paper-maker  by  many  millions  of 
years  ;  long  before  a  human  foot  trod  the  earth, 
there  is  reason  to  suppose  that  ancestral  wasps 
were  manufacturing  paper,  almost  as  they  manu- 
facture it  for  their  nests  to-day,  among  the  sub- 
tropical vegetation  of  an  older  and  warmer  Europe. 
And  the  wasp  is  so  clever  and  so  many-sided  a 
creature,  that  to  consider  him  (or  more  accurately 
her)  in  every  aspect  of  life  within  the  space  of  a 
few  pages  would  be  practically  impossible.  So  it 
is  mainly  as  a  paper-manufacturer  and  a  consumer 
of  paper  that  I  propose  to  regard  our  slim-waisted 
friend  in  this  chapter. 

It  is  usual  in  human  language  to  admit,  as  the 
Latin  Grammar  ungallantly  puts  it,  that  "  the  mas- 
culine is  worthier  than  the  feminine,  the  feminine 
than  the  neuter."  Among  wasps,  however,  the 


THE  FIRST  PAPER-MAKER  149 

opposite  principle  is  so  clearly  true — the  queen  or 
female  is  so  much  more  important  a  person  in  the 
complex  community,  and  so  much  more  in  evi- 
dence than  the  drone  or  male — that  I  shall  offer 
no  apology  here  for  setting  her  history  before  you 
first,  and  giving  it  precedence  over  that  of  her 
vastly  inferior  husband.  Place  aux  dames  is  in  this 
instance  no  question  of  mere  external  chivalrous 
courtesy  ;  it  expresses  the  simple  truth  of  -nature, 
that,  in  wasp  life,  the  grey  mare  is  the  better 
horse,  and  bears  acknowledged  rule  in  her  own 
city  household.  Not  only  so,  but  painful  as  it 
may  sound  to  my  men  readers,  and  insulting  to 
our  boasted  masculine  superiority,  the  neuter  in 
this  case  ranks  second  to  the  feminine  ;  for  the 
worker  wasps,  which  are  practically  sexless,  being 
abortive  females,  are  far  more  valuable  members 
of  the  community  than  their  almost  useless  fathers 
and  brothers.  I  call  them  neuter,  because  they 
are  so  to  all  intents  and  purposes :  though  for 
some  unknown  reason  that  seemingly  harmless 
word  acts  upon  most  entomologists  like  a  red  rag 
on  the  proverbial  bull.  They  will  allow  you  to 
describe  the  abortive  female  as  a  worker  only. 

In  No.  i,  therefore,  I  give  an  illustration  of  a 
queen  wasp  ;  together  with  figures  of  her  husband 
and  of  her  unmarriageable  daughter.  The  queen 
or  mother  wasp  is  much  the  largest  of  the  three  ; 
and  you  will  understand  that  she  needs  to  be  so, 
when  you  come  to  learn  how  much  she  has  to  do, 
how  many  eggs  she  has  to  lay  ;  and  how,  unaided, 
this  brave  foundress  of  a  family  not  only  builds  a  city 


ISO 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


Male 


and  peoples  it  with  thousands  of  citizens,  but  also 

feeds  and  tends  it  with  her 
own  overworked  mouth — 
I  cannot  honestly  say  her 
hands  —  till  her  maiden 
daughters  are  of  age  to 
help  her.  Women's-rights 
women  may  be  proud  of 
the  example  thus  set  them. 
Nature  nowhere  presents 
us,  indeed,  with  a  finer 
specimen  of  feminine  in- 
dustry and  maternal  devo- 
tion to  duty  than  in  the 
case  of  these  courageous 
and  pugnacious  insects. 

But  I  will  not  now  en- 
large upon  the  features  of 
these  three  faithful  por- 
traits, "  expressed  after  the 
life,"  as  Elizabethan  writers 
put  it,  because  as  we  pro- 
ceed I  shall  have  to  call 
attention  in  greater  detail 
to  the  meaning  of  the 
various  parts  of  the  body. 
It  must  suffice  for  the 
moment  to  direct  your 
notice  here  to  that  very 
familiar  portion  of  the 
wasp's  anatomy,  the  sting, 
or  ovipositor,  possessed  by  the  females,  both  per- 


Queen. 


Worker. 

NO.    I. — FAMILY   PORTRAITS 
•  OF   THE   WASPS. 


THE  FIRST  PAPER- MAKER  151 

feet  and  imperfect — queens  or  workers — but  not 
by  those  defenceless  creatures,  the  males.  The 
nature  of  the  sting  (so  far  as  it  is  not  already  well 
known  to  most  of  us  by  pungent  experience)  I 
will  enter  into  later  ;  it  must  suffice  for  the  pre- 
sent to  say  that  it  is  in  essence  an  instrument  for 
depositing  the  eggs,  and  that  it  is  only  incidentally 
turned  into  a  weapon  of  offence  or  defence,  and 
a  means  of  stunning  or  paralysing  the  prey  or 
food-insects. 

The  first  thing  to  understand  about  a  community 
of  wasps  is  the  way  it  originates.  The  story  is  a 
strange  one.  When  the  first  frosts  set  in,  almost 
all  the  wasps  in  temperate  countries  die  off  to 
a  worker  from  the  effects  of  cold.  The  chill 
winds  nip  them.  For  a  few  days  in  autumn  you 
may  often  notice  the  last  straggling  survivors 
crawling  feebly  about,  very  uncomfortable  and 
numb  from  the  cold,  and  with  their  temper  some- 
what soured  by  the  consciousness  of  their  own 
exceeding  weakness.  In  this  irritable  condition, 
feeling  their  latter  end  draw  nigh,  they  are  giving 
to  using  their  stings  with  waspish  virulence  on  the 
smallest  provocation  ;  they  move  about  half-dazed 
on  the  damp  ground,  or  lie  torpid  in  their  nests 
till  death  overtakes  them.  Of  the  whole  populous 
city  which  hummed  with  life  and  business  but  a 
few  weeks  earlier,  no  more  than  two  or  three 
survivors  at  the  outside  struggle  somehow  through 
the  winter,  to  carry  on  the  race  of  wasps  to  suc- 
ceeding generations.  The  colder  the  season,  the 
fewer  the  stragglers  who  live  it  out  ;  in  open 


152  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

winters,  on  the  contrary,  a  fair  number  doze  it 
through,  to  become  the  foundresses  of  correspond- 
ingly numerous  colonies. 

And  who  are  these  survivors  ?  Not  the  lordly 
and  idle  drones  ;  not  even  the  industrious  neuters 
or  workers  ;  but  the  perfect  females  or  queens, 
the  teeming  mothers  to  be  of  the  coming  com- 
munities. Look  at  the  royal  lady  figured  in  No.  i . 
As  autumn  approaches,  this  vigorous  young  queen 
weds  one  of  the  males  from  her  native  nest.  But 
shortly  afterwards,  he  and  all  the  workers  of  his 
city  fall  victims  at  once  to  the  frosts  of  October. 
They  perish  like  Nineveh.  The  queen,  however, 
bearing  all  the  hopes  of  the  race,  cannot  afford 
to  fling  away  her  precious  life  so  carelessly.  That 
is  not  the  way  of  queens.  She  seeks  out  some 
sheltered  spot  among  dry  moss,  or  in  the  crannies 
of  the  earth — a  sandy  soil  preferred — where  she 
may  hibernate  safely.  There,  if  she  has  luck,  she 
passes  the  winter,  dormant,  without  serious  mishap. 
Of  course,  snow  and  frost  destroy  not  a  few  such 
solitary  hermits  ;  a  heavy  rain  may  drown  her  ;  a 
bird  may  discover  her  chosen  retreat  ;  a  passing 
animal  may  crush  her.  But  in  favourable  circum- 
stances, a  certain  number  of  queens  do  manage 
to  struggle  safely  through  the  colder  months  ;  and 
the  wasp-supply  of  the  next  season  mainly  depends 
upon  the  proportion  of  such  lucky  ladies  that 
escape  in  the  end  all  winter  dangers.  Each  queen 
that  lives  through  the  hard  times  becomes  in  spring 
the  foundress  of  a  separate  colony  ;  and  it  is  on 
this  account  that  farmers  and  fruit-growers  often 


THE  FIRST  PAPER-MAKER  153 

pay  a  small  reward  for  every  queen  wasp  killed 
early  in  the  spring.  A  single  mother  wasp  de- 
stroyed in  May  is  equivalent  to  a  whole  nest 
destroyed  in  July  or  August. 

As  soon  as  warmer  weather  sets  in,  the  dormant 
queen  awakes,  shakes  off  dull  sloth,  and  forgets 
her  long  torpor.  With  a  toss  and  a  shake,  she 
crawls  out  into  the  sunshine,  which  soon  revives 
her.  Then  she  creeps  up  a  blade  of  grass,  spreads 
her  wings,  and  flies  off.  Her  first  care  is  naturally 
breakfast  ;  and  as  she  has  eaten  nothing  for  five 
months,  her  hunger  is  no  doubt  justifiable.  As 
soon,  however,  as  she  has  satisfied  the  most  pressing 
wants  of  her  own  nature,  maternal  instinct  goads 
her  on  to  provide  at  once  for  her  unborn  family. 
She  seeks  a  site  for  her  nest,  her  future  city. 
How  she  builds  it,  and  of  what  materials,  I  will 
tell  you  in  greater  detail  hereafter  ;  for  the  moment, 
I  want  you  to  understand  the  magnitude  of  the 
task  this  female  Columbus  sets  herself — Columbus, 
Cornelia,  and  Caesar  in  one — the  task  not  only  of 
building  a  Carthage,  but  also  of  peopling  it.  She 
has  no  hands  to  speak  of  but  her  mouth,  which 
acts  at  once  as  mouth,  and  hands,  and  tools,  and 
factory,  and  stands  her  in  good  stead  in  her  carpen- 
tering and  masonry.  She  does  everything  with  her 
mouth  ;  and  therefore,  of  course,  she  has  a  mouth 
which  has  grown  gradually  adapted  for  doing 
everything.  The  monkey  used  his  thumb  till  he 
made  a  hand  of  it  ;  the  elephant  his  trunk  till  he 
could  pick  up  a  needle.  Use  brings  structure  ; 
by  dint  of  using  her  mouth  so  much,  the  wasp  has 


154  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

acquired  both  organs  fit  for  her,  and  dexterity  in 
employing  them. 

The  first  point  she  has  now  to  consider  is  the 
placing  of  her  nest.  In  this  she  is  guided  partly 
by  that  inherited  experience  which  we  describe 
(somewhat  foolishly)  as  instinct,  and  partly  by  her 
own  individual  intelligence.  Different  races  of 
wasps  prefer  different  situations  :  some  of  them 
burrow  underground  ;  others  hang  their  houses 
in  the  branches  of  trees  ;  others' again  seek  some 
dry  and  hollow  trunk.  But  personal  taste  has 
also  much  to  do  with  it  ;  thus  the  common 
English  wasp  sometimes  builds  underground,  but 
sometimes  takes  advantage  of  the  dry  space  under 
the  eaves  of  houses.  All  that  is  needed  is  shelter, 
especially  from  rain  ;  wherever  the  wasp  finds  a 
site  that  pleases  her,  there  she  founds  her  family. 

Let  us  imagine,  then,  that  she  has  lighted  on  a 
suitable  hole  in  the  earth — a  hole  produced  by 
accident,  or  by  some  dead  mole  or  mouse  or 
rabbit  ;  she  occupies  it  at  once,  and  begins  by 
her  own  labour  to  enlarge  and  adapt  it  to  her 
private  requirements.  As  soon  as  she  has  made 
it  as  big  as  she  thinks  necessary,  she  sets  to  work 
to  collect  materials  for  building  the  city.  She 
flies  abroad,  and  with  her  saw-like  jaws  rasps 
away  at  a  paling  or  other  exposed  piece  of  wood 
till  she  has  collected  a  fair  amount  of  finely 
powdered  fibrous  matter.  I  will  show  you  Jater 
on  the  admirable  machine  with  which  she  scrapes 
and  pulps  the  fragments  of  wood-fibre.  Having 
gathered  a  sufficient  quantity  of  this  raw  material 


THE  FIRST  PAPER-MAKER  155 

to  begin  manufacturing,  she  proceeds  to  work  it 
up  with  her  various  jaws  and  a  secretion  from 
her  mouth  into  a  sort  of  coarse  brown  paper  ;  the 
stickiness  of  the  secretion  gums  the  tiny  fragments 
of  wood  together  into  a  thin  layer.  Then  she  lays 
down  the  floor  of  her  nest,  and  proceeds  to  raise 
upon  it  a  stout  column  or  foot-stalk  of  papery 
matter,  sufficiently  strong  to  support  the  first  two 
or  three  layers  of  cells.  She  never  builds  on  the 
ground,  but  begins  her  nest  at  the  top  of  the 
supporting  column.  The  cells  are  exclusively  in- 
tended for  the  reception  of  eggs  and  the  breeding 
of  grubs,  not  (as  is  the  case  with  bees)  for  the 
storing  of  honey.  We  must  remember,  however, 
that  the  original  use  of  all  cells  was  that  of  rearing 
the  young  ;  the  more  advanced  bees,  who  are  the 
civilised  type  of  their  kind,  make  more  cells  than 
they  need  for  strictly  nursery  purposes,  and  then 
employ  some  of  them  as  convenient  honey  jars. 
The  consequence  is  that  beehives  survive  intact 
from  season  to  season  (unless  killed  off  artificially), 
while  the  less  prudent  wasps  die  wholesale  by 
cityfuls  at  the  end  of  each  summer. 

Having  thus  supplied  a  foundation  for  her  topsy- 
turvy city,  our  wasp-queen  proceeds  in  due  course 
to  build  it.  At  the  top  of  the  original  column, 
or  foot-stalk,  she  constructs  her  earliest  cells,  the 
nurseries  for  her  three  first-born  grubs.  They  are 
not  built  upward,  however,  above  the  foot-stalk, 
but  downward,  with  the  open  mouth  below,  hang- 
ing like  a  bell.  Each  is  short  and  shallow,  about 
a  tenth  of  an  inch  in  depth  to  begin  with,  and 


156  FLASHLIGHTS  ox  NATURE 

more  like  a  cup,  or  even  a  saucer,  than  a  cell  at 
this  early  stage.  The  Natural  History  Museum 
at  South  Kensington  possesses  some  admirable 
examples  of  such  nests,  in  various  degrees  of 
growth  ;  and  my  fellow-worker,  Mr.  Knock,  has 
obtained  the  kind  permission  of  the  authorities  at 


NO.    2. — THE   CITY,   TWO   DAYS   OLD. 

the  Museum  to  photograph  the  cases  which  con- 
tain them,  for  the  purposes  of  these  articles.  They 
represent  the  progress  of  the  queen-wasp's  work 
at  two,  five,  and  fifteen  days  respectively  (Nos.  2, 
3,  and  4),  and  thus  admirably  illustrate  the  in- 
credible rapidity  with  which,  alone  and  unaided, 
she  builds  and  populates  this  one-mother  city. 


THE  FIRST  PAPER-MAKER  157 

As  soon  as  the  first  cells  are  formed  in  their  early 
shallow  shape,  the  busy  mother,  sallying  forth  once 
more  in  search  of  wood  or  fibre,  proceeds  to  make 
more  paper-pulp,  and  construct  an  umbrella-shaped 
covering  above  the  three  saucers.  In  each  of  the 
three  she  lays  an  egg  ;  and  then,  leaving  the  eggs  to 


NO.   3. — THE  CITY,    FIVE   DAYS  OLD. 

hatch  out  quietly  by  themselves  into  larvae,  she  goes 
on  cutting — not  bread  and  butter,  like  Charlotte 
in  Thackeray's  song — but  more  wood-fibre  to  make 
more  cells  and  more  coverings.  These  new  cells 
she  hangs  up  beside  the  original  three,  and  lays 
an  egg  in  each  as  soon  as  it  is  completed.  But  a 
mother's  work  is  never  finished  ;  and  surely  there 


158  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

was  never  a  mother  so  hardly  tasked  as  the  royal 
wasp  foundress.  By  the  time  she  has  built  and 
stocked  a  few  more  cells,  the  three  eggs  first  laid 
have  duly  hatched  out,  and  now  she  must  begin 
to  look  after  the  little  grubs  or  larvae.  I  have 
not  illustrated  J:his  earliest  stage  of  wasp-life,  the 


NO.   4. — THE   CITY,    FIFTEEN   DAYS  OLD. 

grubby  or  nursery  period,  because  everybody 
knows  it  well  in  real  life.  Now,  as  the  grubs 
hatch  out,  they  require  to  be  fed,  and  the  poor, 
overworked  mother  has  henceforth  not  only  to 
find  food  for  herself,  and  paper  to  build  more 
cells,  but  also  to  feed  her  helpless,  worm-like 


THE  FIRST  PAPER-MAKER  159 

offspring.  There  they  lie  in  their  cradles,  head 
downward,  crying  always  for  provender,  like  the 
daughters  of  the  horse-leech.  Forgive  her,  there- 
fore, if  her  temper  is  sometimes  short,  and  if  she 
resents  intrusion  upon  the  strawberry  she  is  cart- 
ing away  to  feed  her  young  family  by  a  hasty 
sting,  administered,  perhaps,  with  rather  more 
asperity  than  a  lady  should  display  under  trying 
circumstances.  Some  of  my  readers  are  mothers 
themselves,  and  can  feel  for  her.  Nor  is  even 
this  all.  The  grubs  of  wasps  grow  fast — in  itself 
a  testimonial  to  the  constant  care  wtth  which  a 
devoted  mother  feeds  and  tends  them  :  and  even 
as  they  grow  the  poor  queen  (a  queen  but  in 
name,  and  more  like  a  maid-of-all-work  in  reality) 
has  continually  to  raise  the  cell-wall  around  them. 
What  looked  at  first  like  shallow  cups,  thus  grow 
at  last  into  deep,  hollow  cells,  the  walls  being 
raised  from  time  to  time  by  the  addition  of  papery 
matter,  with  the  growth  of  the  inmates.  In  this 
first  or  foundation-comb — the  nucleus  and  original 
avenue  of  the  nascent  city — the  walls  are  never 
carried  higher  than  the  height  of  the  larva  that 
inhabits  them.  As  the  grub  grows,  the  mother 
adds  daily  a  course  or  layer  of  paper,  till  the  larva 
reaches  its  final  size,  a  fat,  full  grub,  ready  to 
undergo  its  marvellous  metamorphosis.  Then  at 
last  it  begins  to  do  some  work  on  its  own  account : 
it  spins  a  silky,  or  cottony,  web,  with  which  it 
covers  over  the  mouth  or  opening  of  the  cell  ; 
though  even  here  you  must  remember  it  derives 
the  material  from  its  own  body,  and  therefore 


160  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

ultimately  from  food  supplied  it  by  the  mother. 
How  one  wasp  can  ever  do  so  much  in  so  short 
a  time  is  a  marvel  to  all  who  have  once  watched 
the  process. 

While  the  baby  wasps  remain  swaddled  in  their 
cradle  cells,  their  food  consists  in  part  of  honey, 
which  the  careful  mother  distributes  to  them  im- 
partially, turn  about,  and  in  part  of  succulent 
fruits,  such  as  the  pulp  of  pears  or  peaches.  The 
honey  our  housekeeper  either  gathers  for  herself 
or  else  steals  from  bees,  for  truth  compels  me  to 
admit  that  she  is  as  dishonest  as  she  is  industrious  ; 
but  on  the  whole,  she  collects  more  than  she  robs, 
for  many  flowers  lay  themselves  out  especially  for 
wasps,  and  are  adapted  only  for  fertilisation  by 
these  special  visitants.  Such  specialised  wasp- 
flowers  have  usually  small  helmet-shaped  blossoms, 
exactly  fitted  to  the  head  of  the  wasp,  as  you  see 
it  in  Mr.  Knock's  illustrations  ;  and  they  are  for 
the  most  part  somewhat  livid  and  dead  -  meaty 
in  hue.  Common  scrophularia,  or  fig-wort,  is 
a  good  example  of  a  plant  that  thus  lays  itself 
out  to  encourage  the  visits  of  wasps  ;  it  has  small 
lurid-red  flowers,  just  the  shape  and  size  of  the 
wasp's  head,  and  its  stamens  and  style  are  so 
arranged  that  when  the  wasp  rifles  the  honey  at 
the  base  of  the  helmet,  she  cannot  fail  to  brush  off 
the  pollen  from  one  blossom  on  to  the  sensitive 
surface  of  the  next.  Moreover,  the  scrophularia 
comes  into  bloom  at  the  exact  time  of  year 
when  the  baby  wasps  require  its  honey  ;  and  you 
can  never  watch  a  scrophularia  plant  for  three 


THE  FIRST  PAPER-MAKER  161 

minutes  together  without  seeing  at  least  two  or 
three  wasps  busily  engaged  in  gathering  its  nectar. 
Herb  and  insect  have  learned  to  accommodate 
one  another  ;  by  mutual  adaptation  they  have 
fitted  each  part  of  each  to  each  in  the  most 
marvellous  detail. 

It  is  a  peculiarity  of  the  wasps,  however,  that 
they  are  fairly  omnivorous.  Most  of  their  cousins, 
like  the  bees,  have  mouths  adapted  to  honey-suck- 
ing alone — mere  tubes  or  suction-pumps,  incapable 
of  biting  through  any  hard  substance.  But  the 
wasp,  with  her  hungry  large  family  to  keep,  has 
to  be  less  particular  about  the  nature  of  her  food  ; 
she  cannot  afford  to  depend  upon  honey  only. 
Not  only  does  she  suck  nectar  ;  she  bites  holes  in 
fruits,  as  we  know  to  our  cost  in  our  gardens,  to 
dig  out  the  pulp  ;  and  she  has  a  perfect  genius  for 
selecting  the  softest  and  sunniest  side  of  an  apricot 
or  a  nectarine.  She  is  not  a  strict  vegetarian,  either  ; 
all  is  fish  that  comes  to  her  net :  she  will  help  her- 
self to  meat  or  any  other  animal  matter  she  can 
find,  and  will  feed  her  uncomplaining  grubs  upon 
raw  and  bleeding  tissue.  Nay,  more,  she  catches 
flies  and  other  insects  as  they  flit  in  the  sunshine, 
saws  off  their  wings  with  her  sharp  jaws,  and  carries 
them  off  alive,  but  incapable  of  struggling,  to  feed 
her  own  ever-increasing  household. 

By-and-by  the  first  grubs,  which  covered  them- 
selves in  with  silk  in  order  to  undergo  their  pupa 
or  chrysalis  stage,  develop  their  wings  under  cover, 
and  emerge  from  their  cases  as  full-grown  workers. 
These  workers,  whose  portrait  you  will  find  on  a 

L 


1 62  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

previous  page,  are  partially  developed  females, 
being  unable  to  lay  eggs.  But  in  all  other  respects 
they  inherit  the  habits  or  instincts  of  their  estim- 
able mother  ;  and  no  sooner  are  they  fairly  hatched 
out  of  the  pupa-case,  where  they  underwent  their 
rapid  metamorphosis,  than  they  set  to  work,  like 
dutiful  daughters,  to  assist  mamma  in  the  manage- 
ment of  the  city.  Like  the  imagined  world  of 
Tennyson's  "  Princess,"  no  male  can  enter.  If  ever 
there  was  a  woman-ruled  republic  in  the  world, 
such  as  Aristophanes  feigned,  it  is  a  wasp's  nest. 
The  workers  fall  to  at  "  tidying  up  "  at  once  ;  they 
put  the  house  in  order  ;  they  go  out  and  gather 
paper  ;  they  help  their  mother  to  build  new  cells  ; 
and  they  assist  in  feeding  and  tending  the  still- 
increasing  nursery.  The  first  comb  formed,  you 
will  remember,  was  at  the  top  of  the  foundation 
column  or  footstalk ;  the  newer  combs  are  built 
below  this  in  rows,  each  opening  downward,  so 
that  the  compound  house  or  series  of  flats  is 
planned  on  the  exactly  opposite  system  from  our 
own — the  top  storeys  being  erected  first,  and  the 
lower  ones  afterward,  each  storey  having  its  floor 
above  and  its  entrance  at  the  bottom.  At  the  same 
time,  the  umbrella-shaped  covering  is  continued 
downward  as  an  outer  wall  to  protect  the  combs, 
until  finally  the  nest  grows  to  be  a  roughly  round 
or  egg-shaped  body,  entirely  enclosed  in  a  shell 
or  outer  wall  of  paper,  and  with  only  a  single  gate- 
way at  the  bottom,  by  which  the  busy  workers  go 
in  and  out  of  their  city. 

The  nest  of  the  tree-wasp,  which  we  have  also 


THE  FIRST  PAPER-MAKER  163 

been  kindly  permitted  to  photograph  from  the 
specimens  at  the  Natural  History  Museum  (Nos. 
5  and  6),  exhibits  this  final  stage  of  the  compound 
home. 

By  the  time  the  workers  have  become  tolerably 
numerous  in  the  growing  nest,  the  busy  mother 
and  queen  begins  to  relax  her  external  efforts,  and 
confines  herself  more  and  more  to  the  performance 
of  her  internal  and  domestic  duties.  She  no 
longer  goes  out  to  make  paper  and  collect  food  ; 
she  gives  herself  up,  like  the  queen  bee,  exclusively 
to  the  maternal  business  of  egg-laying.  You  must 
remember  that  she  is  still  the  only  perfect  female 
in  the  wasp  hive,  and  that  every  worker  wasp 
the  home  contains  is  her  own  daughter.  She  is 
foundress,  queen,  and  mother  to  that  whole  busy 
community  of  4000  or  5000  souls.  The  longer 
the  nest  goes  on,  the  greater  is  the  number  of 
workers  produced,  and  the  faster  does  the  queen 
lay  eggs  in  the  new  cells  now  built  for  her  use  by 
her  attentive  daughters.  These  in  turn  fly  abroad 
everywhere  in  search  of  nectar,  fruits,  and  meat, 
or  gather  honey-dew  ^from  the  green^flies/^ori  catch 
and  sting  to  death  other  insects,  or  swoop  down 
upon  and  carry  off  fat,  juicy  spiders  ;  all  of  which 
foodstuffs,  save  what  they  require  for  their  own 
subsistence,  they  take  home  to  the  nest  to  feed  the 
grubs,  from  which,  in  due  time,  will  issue ;  forth 
more  workers.  It  is  a  wonderful  world  of  women 
burghers. 

As  long  as  summer  lasts,  our  queen  lays  eggs 
which  produce  nothing  else  than  such  neuter 


1 64  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

workers.  As  autumn  comes  on,  however,  and  the 
future  of  the  race  must  be  provided  for,  she  lays 
eggs  which  hatch  out  a  brood  of  perfect  females 
or  queens  like  herself.  It  is  probable  that  the 
same  egg  may  develop  either  into  a  queen  or  a 
worker,  and  that  the  difference  of  type  is  due  to 


NO.  5.— NEST  OF   TREE-WASP,  WITH   PAPER   PARTLY   REMOVED. 

the  nature  of  the  food  and  training.  A  young  grub 
fed  on  ordinary  food  in  an  ordinary  cell  becomes  a 
neuter  ;  but  a  similar  grub,  fed  on  royal  food  and 
cradled  in  a  larger  cell,  develops  into  a  queen.  As 
with  ourselves,  in  fact,  royalty  is  merely  a  matter  of 
the  surroundings. 


THE  FIRST  PAPER-MAKER 


165 


Last  of  all,  as  the  really  cold  weather  begins  to 
set  in,  the  queen  wasp  lays  some  other  eggs  from 
which  a  small  brood  of  males  is  finally  developed. 
Nobody  in  the  nest  sets  much  store  by  these  males  : 
they  are  necessary  evils,  no  more,  so  the  wasps  put 
up  with  them.  It  is  humiliating  to  my  sex,  but  I 


NO.    6. — NESTS   OF  TREE-WASP,    EXTERIOR   AND    INTERIOR. 

cannot  avoid  mentioning  the  fact,  that  the  produc- 
tion of  males  seems  even  to  be  a  direct  result  of 
chill  and  unfavourable  conditions.  The  best  food 
and  the  biggest  cells  produce  fertile  queens  ;  the 
second  best  food  and  smaller  cells  produce  workers  ; 
finally,  the  enfeeblement  due  to  approaching  winter 


1 66  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

produces  only  drones  or  males.  We  cannot 
resist  the  inference  that  the  male  is  here  the  in- 
ferior creature.  These  facts,  I  regret  to  say,  are 
also  not  without  parallels  elsewhere.  Among  bees, 
for  instance,  the  eggs  laid  by  very  old,  decrepit 
queens,  or  by  maimed  and  crippled  queens,  pro- 
duce males  only  ;  while  among  tadpoles,  if  well 
fed,  the  majority  become  female  frogs  ;  but  if 
starved,  they  become  preponderantly  male.  So, 
too,  starved  caterpillars  produce  only  male  butter- 
flies, while  the  well-fed  produce  females.  I  know 
this  is  the  opposite  of  what  most  people  ima- 
gine ;  but  then,  science  not  infrequently  finds 
itself  compelled  to  differ  in  opinion  from  most 
people. 

The  drones,  or  males,  are  thus  of  as  little  account 
in  the  nest  of  wasps  as  in  the  hive  of  bees.  In 
both,  they  only  appear  for  a  short  time,  and  for 
the  definite  purpose  of  becoming  fathers  to  the 
future  generations.  When  they  have  fulfilled  this 
their  solitary  function,  the  hive,  or  the  nest,  cares 
no  more  about  them.  The  bees,  as  you  know, 
have  a  prudent  and  economical  habit  of  stinging 
them  to  death,  so  as  not  to  waste  good  honey 
on  useless  mouths  through  the  winter.  The  wasps 
act  otherwise.  They  are  not  going  to  live  through 
the  winter  themselves,  so  they  don't  take  the  trouble 
to  execute  their  brothers  :  they  merely  turn  the 
young  queens  and  males  loose,  and  then  leave  the 
successful  suitors  to  be  killed  by  the  first  frost 
without  further  consideration. 

And   now  comes  the   most  curious  part  of  all 


THE  FIRST  PAPER-MAKER  167 

this  strange,  eventful  history.  We  do  not  love 
wasps  ;  yet  so  sad  a  catastrophe  as  the  end  of  the 
nest  cannot  fail  to  affect  the  imagination.  As  soon 
as  the  young  queens  and  males  have  quitted  the 
combs,  the  whole  bustling  city,  till  now  so  busy, 
seems  to  lose  heart  at  once  and  to  realise  that  it  is 
doomed  to  speedy  extinction.  Winter  is  coming 
on,  when  no  worker  wasp  can  live.  So  the  com- 
munity proceeds  with  one  accord  to  commit  com- 
munal suicide.  The  workers,  who  till  now  have 
tended  the  young  grubs  with  sisterly  care,  drag 
the  remaining  larvae  ruthlessly  from  their  cells,  as 
if  conscious  that  they  can  never  rear  this  last 
brood,  and  carry  them  in  their  mouths  and  legs 
outside  the  nest.  There  they  take  them  to  some 
distance  from  the  door,  and  then  drop  them  on 
the  ground  to  die,  as  if  to  put  them  out  of 
their  misery.  As  for  the  workers  themselves,  they 
return  to  the  nest  and  starve  to  death  or  die 
of  cold  ;  or  else  they  crawl  about  aimlessly  out- 
side in  a  distracted  way  till  the  end  overtakes 
them.. 

There  is  something  really  pathetic  in  this  sudden 
and  meaningless  downfall  of  a  whole  vast  cityful  ; 
something  strange  and  weird  in  this  constantly  re- 
peated effort  to  build  up  and  people  a  great  com- 
munity, only  to  see  it  fall  to  pieces  hopelessly  and 
helplessly  at  the  first  touch  of  winter.  Yet  how 
does  it  differ,  after  all,  from  our  human  empires, 
save  in  the  matter  of  duration  ?  We  raise  them 
with  infinite  pains  only  to  see  them  fall  apart,  like 
Rome  or  Babylon. 


168  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

So,  by  the  time  the  dead  of  winter  comes,  both 
males  and  workers  are  cleared  off  the  stage  ;  and 
universal  waspdom  is  only  represented  by  a  few 
stray  fertilised  females,  who  carry  the  embodied 
hopes  of  so  many  dead  and  ruined  cities. 

And  now  that   I  have  traced  the  history  of  the 


No-  7- — HEAD  OF  QUEfcN  WASP,  MOUTH  WIDE  OPEN  :    FRONT  VIEW. 

commune  from  its  rise  to  its  fall,  I  must  say  a  few 
words  in  brief  detail  about  the  individual  wasps 
which  make  up  its  members. 

And  first  of  all  as  to  the  wasp's  head.  You  will 
have  gathered  from  what  I  have  said  that  the  head 
of  the  insect  is  practically  by  far  its  most  impor- 


THE  FIRST  PAPER-MAKER  169 

tant  portion.  All  the  work  we  do  with  our  hands, 
the  wasp  does  with  its  complicated  mouth-organs. 
And  the  wasp's  head  is  such  a  wonderful  mechan- 
ism, that  some  little  study  of  the  accompanying 
illustrations,  though  they  may  not  at  first  sight 
look  very  attractive,  will  amply  repay  you.  I  will 


NO.  8.— THE  SAME  HEAD,  MOUTH  WIDE  OPEN  :  BACK  VIEW 
(DECAPITATED). 


try  to  explain  the  uses  of  each  part  with  as  little 
as  possible  of  scientific  technicalities. 

In  No.  7  you  get  the  head  of  a  queen  wasp,  seen 
full  face  in  front,  with  the  mouth-organs  open. 
The  three  little  knobs  in  the  centre  up  above  are 
the  simple  eyes  or  eyelets  (ocelli,  if  you  prefer  a 
Latin  word,  which  sounds  much  more  learned). 


1 70  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

The  large  kidney-shaped  bodies  on  either  side  of 
the  head  (here  seen  as  interrupted  by  the  antennae 
or  feelers)  are  the  compound  eyes,  each  of  which 
consists  of  innumerable  tiny  lenses,  giving  the 
wasp  that  possesses  them  a  very  acute  sense  of 
vision.  We  do  not  know  exactly  what  is  the 
difference  in  use  between  the  simple  eyes  and  the 


NO.  9. — THE  MOUTH  CLOSING:   TONGUE  WITHDRAWN  :   BACK  VIEW. 

compound  ones  ;  but  either  sort  has  doubtless  its 
own  special  part  to  play  in  this  complex  personality. 
The  antennae,  or  feelers,  again,  with  their  many 
joints  and  their  ball-and-socket  base,  are  beautiful 
and  wonderful  objects.  The  various  parts  of  the 
mouth  are  here  seen  open  ;  conspicuous  among 
them  are  the  great  saw-like  outer  jaws,  used  for 


THE  FIRST  PAPER-MAKER  171 

scraping  wood  and  manufacturing  paper  ;  the  long, 
narrow  shield ;  the  broad  tongue ;  and  the  delicately 
jointed  palps,  or  finger-like  feeders.  Notice  how 
some  of  these  organs  are  suitable  for  cutting  and 
rasping,  while  others  lend  themselves  to  the  most 
dainty  and  delicate  manipulation. 

No.  8  shows  us  the  same  head,  decapitated,  and 


NO.  IO. — MOUTH  ALMOST  CLOSED  :  ATTITUDE  FOR  SCRAPING  WOOD  : 
BACK  VIEW. 

seen  from  behind.  The  shield-like  space  in  the 
very  middle  represents  the  point  of  decapitation — 
the  cut  neck,  if  I  may  use  frankly  human  language. 
Below  is  the  hollow  or  receptacle  into  which  all 
the  organs  can  be  withdrawn  when  not  in  use,  and 
packed  away  like  surgical  knives  and  lancets  in  an 
instrument  case.  Observe  in  the  sequel  how  neatly 


172  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

and  completely  this  can  be  done  :  how  each  has 
its  groove  in  the  marvellous  economy  of  nature. 

In  No.  9  you  see  the  organs  closing  (also  a 
back  view);  the  tongue  having  been  now  drawn  in, 
while  the  saw-like  jaws  and  the  delicate  feeling 
palps  are  still  exposed  and  ready  for  working. 
No.  8,  on  the  contrary,  is  the  feeding  attitude. 


NO.  II. — MOUTH  QUITE  CLOSED  :   ATTITUDE  FOR  SCRAPING  WOOD: 
END  OF   ONE   MOVEMENT. 


In  No.  10  (another  back  view),  the  palps  have 
been  turned  back  into  their  special  groove,  and 
the  saw-like  jaws  are  seen  free  for  working.  This 
is  the  attitude  in  which  the  wasp  attacks  a  park 
paling,  in  order  to  scrape  off  wood-fibre  for  the 
manufacture  of  paper.  Here,  as  you  see,  the  jaws 
are  open.  In  No.  n  they  are  closed,  at  the  end 


THE  FIRST  PAPER-MAKER 


173 


of  a  scrape.  These  two  last  attitudes  are,  of  course, 
alternate.  One  shows  the  jaws  opened,  the  other 
closed,  as  they  look  at  the  beginning  and  end  of 
each  forward  and  backward  movement.  You  will 
notice  also  that,  as  usual,  the  insect's  jaws  work 
sideways,  not  up  and  down  like  those  of  man  and 
other  higher  animals.  If  you  examine  closely  this 
series  of  wasp's  heads  in  different  postures,  you 
will  see  how  well  the  various  parts  are  adapted, 
not  only  for  rasping  and  manu- 
facturing paper,  but  also  for 
the  more  delicate  work  of  wall 
and  cell  building. 

Almost  as  interesting  as  the 
head  are  the  wings  of  wasps, 
of  which  there  are  four,  as  in 
most  other  insects.  But  they 
have  this  curious  peculiarity : 
the  two  front  wings  have  a 
crease  down  the  middle,  so  that 
they  can  be  folded  up  length- 
wise, like  two  segments  or  rays 
of  a  fan,  and  thus  occupy  only 
half  the  space  on  the  body  that  they  would  other- 
wise do.  It  is  this  odd  device  that  makes  the 
transparent  and  gauzy  wings  so  relatively  incon- 
spicuous \vhen  the  insect  is  at  rest,  and  the  same 
cause  contributes  also  to  the  display  of  the  hand- 
some black-and-yellow-striped  body.  No.  1 2  shows 
us  a  queen  with  her  wings  folded  :  below  is  one 
upper  or  front  wing,  folded  over  on  itself,  and- then 
laid  across  the  under  wing.  No.  13  introduces  us 


NO.  12. — QUEEN  WITH 
FOLDED  WINGS,  AND 
ONE  WING  TO  SHOW 
FOLDING. 


1/4  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

to  a  more  characteristic  feature,  common  to  wasps 
with  the  whole  bee  family. 

All  these  cousins  possess  by  common  descent 
the  usual  four  wings  of  well-regulated  insects. 
But  it  so  happens  that  the  habits  of  the  race 
make  strong  and  certain  flight  more  practically 
important  for  them  than  the  mere  power  of  aerial 


NO.    13. — PART  OF  TWO  WINGS,   WITH   HOOKS  AND   GROOVES. 

coquetting  and  pirouetting  possessed  by  the  far 
less  business-like  butterflies.  Your  wasp  and  your 
bee  are  women  of  business.  They  have  therefore 
found  it  pay  them  to  develop  a  mechanism  by 
which  the  two  wings  on  either,  side  can  be  firmly 
locked  together,  so  as  to  act  like  a  single  pinion. 
No.  13  very  well  illustrates  this  admirable  plan 
for  fastening  the  fore  and  hind  wings  together. 


THE  FIRST  PAPER-MAKER 


175 


On  top  you  see  the  back  portion  of  the  front 
wing,  with  a  curved  groove  on  its  inner  edge. 
Below,  you  get  the  front  portion  of  the  hinder 
wing,  with  a  series  of  little  hooks,  microscopic, 
yet  exquisitely  moulded,  which  catch  into  the 
groove  on  the  opposite  portion.  When  thus 
hooked  together,  the  two  wings  on  the  right  act 
exactly  like  one.  So  do  the  two 
on  the  left.  But  they  can  be  un- 
hooked and  folded  back  on  the 
body  at  the  will  of  the  insect. 
To  either  side  of  No.  13  you  will 
notice  sections  of  the  two  wings, 
which  will  help  you  to  under- 
stand the  nature  of  the  mechan- 
ism. On  the  right,  the  wings  are 
seen  hooked  together  ;  on  the  left, 
they  are  caught  just  in  the  act 
of  unhooking. 

Last  of  all,  and  most  important 
of  all  to  ordinary  humanity,  we 
come  to  the  sting,  with  its  append- 
age the  poison-bag, 
represented  in  No.  14.  The  main 
object  of  the  sting,  and  its  ori- 
ginal function  by  descent,  is  that  of  laying  eggs  ; 
it  is  merely  the  ovipositor.  But  besides  the  grooved 
sheath  or  egg-layer  (marked  S  in  the  illustration) 
and  the  two  very  sharp  lances  or  darts  (marked  D) 
which  pierce  the  flesh  of  the  enemy,  it  is  provided 
with  a  gland  which  secretes  that  most  unpleasant 
body,  formic  acid  ;  and  when  the  wasp  has  cause 


It  iS  Well  NO.  I4—POISON  BAG, 
SHEATH,  DARTS, 
AND  PALPI. 


1/6 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


to  be  annoyed,  she  throws  the  sting  rapidly  into 
the  animal  that 
annoys  her,  and 
injects  the  fluid 
with  the  formic 
acid  in  it.  In 
No.  15  the  darts 
are  shown  still 
more  highly  mag- 
nified. In  the 
queen  wasp,  the 
sting  is  used  both 
for  laying  eggs 
and  as  a  weapon 
of  offence  ;  but 
in  the  workers, 
which  cannot  lay 
eggs,  it  is  entirely 
devoted  to  the 
work  of  fighting. 
Two  other  little 
peculiarities  of 
the  wasp,  how- 

r  NO.     1 6. — WASPS     BRUSH 

ever,     deserve     a          AND  COMB,  FOR  CLEAN- 
final  word  of  re-          ING  ANTENNAE. 
cognition.       One 

of    these   is   the   elaborate    brush-and- 
comb    apparatus    or    antennae-cleaner, 

o™     drawn    in    a   ve^   enlarged    view   in 
METERS.  No.    1 6.     Whatever    the    sense    may 

be  which  the  antennas  serve,  we  may 
at  least  be  certain  that  it  is  one  of  great  import- 


THE  FIRST  PAPER-MAKER 


177 


ance  to  the  insect  ;  and  both  wasps  and  bees  have 
therefore  elaborate  brushes  for  keeping  these  valu- 
able organs  clean  and  neat  and  in  working  order. 
They  always  remind  me  of  the  brushes  I  use  myself 
for  cleaning  the  type  in  my  typewriting  machine. 
The  antennae-brush  of  the  wasp  is  fixed  on  one 
of  her  legs  ;  its  precise  situation  on  the  leg  as 
a  whole  is  shown  in  the  little  upper  diagram  ; 
its  detail  and  various  parts  are 
further  enlarged  below.  To  the 
left  is  the  coarse  or  large-tooth 
comb  ;  to  the  right  is  the  brush  ; 
and  above  the  brush,  connected 
with  the  handle  by  an  exceed- 
ingly thin  and  filmy  membrane, 
is  the  fine-tooth  comb,  used  for 
removing  very  small  impurities. 
With  this  the  wasp  cleans  her 
precious  feelers  much  as  you 
may  have  seen  flies  clean  their 
wings  when  they  have  fallen 
in  a  jam-pot  ;  only  the  wasp's 
mechanism  is  much  more  beau- 
tiful and  perfect. 

Almost  equally  interesting  with  the  brush  and 
comb  are  the  series  of  tucks  in  the  wasp's  body 
or  abdomen,  delineated  in  No.  17.  By  means  of 
these  extraordinarily  flexible  rings,  each  held  in 
place  or  let  loose  by  appropriate  muscles,  the 
wasp  can  twist  her  body  round  so  conveniently 
that,  no  matter  how  carefully  and  gingerly  you 
hold  her,  she  will  manage  to  sting  you.  They 

M 


NO.  17. — TUCKS  IN  THE 
SEGMENTS. 


1 78  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

are  models  of  plate-armour.  They  work  upward, 
downward,  and  more  or  less  sideways,  so  that  they 
enable  her  to  cock  her  body  up  or  down,  right  or 
left,  at  will,  with  almost  incredible  flexibility. 

Adequately  to  tell  you  all  about  the  wasp,  how- 
ever, would  require  a  very  stout  volume,  I  have 
said  enough,  I  hope,  to  suggest  to  you  that  the 
wasp's  history  is  quite  as  interesting  as  that  of  her 
over-lauded  relation,  the  little  busy  bee.  Indeed, 
I  suspect  it  is  only  the  utilitarian  instinct  of  hum- 
anity that  has  caused  so  much  attention  to  be  paid 
to  the  domestic  producer  of  honey,  and  so  rela- 
tively little  to  that  free  and  independent  insect,  the 
first  paper-maker. 


VIII 
ABIDING   CITIES 

THE  papery  nests  of  wasps  are  purely  tempo- 
rary empires :  the  vespine  race  has  "  no 
abiding  city  here " ;  each  summer  sees  the 
populous  homes  built  afresh  from  the  ground  ;  each 
winter  sees  them  unpeopled  and  demolished.  But 
with  ants,  which  are  builders  for  time,  things  are 
quite  otherwise.  The  communities  of  those  clever 
and  intelligent  little  creatures  are  tolerably  perma- 
nent ;  they  go  on  from  year  to  year,  and  generation 
to  generation,  often  for  very  long  periods  together. 
Lest  I  weary  you  unnecessarily  by  a  long  pre- 
amble, however,  I  shall  present  you  with  views  of 
one  such  nest  at  once,  outside  and  inside,  in  Nos.  i 
and  2,  in  order  that  you  may  see  without  delay  the 
curious  method  of  their  detailed  construction. 

The  city  whose  external  lineaments  are  shown 
you  in  the  photograph  reproduced  in  No.  i  is 
actually  situated  on  St.  George's  Hill,  near  Wey- 
bridge,  just  ten  feet  away  from  the  large  Scotch 
fir  whose  trunk  appears  on  the  right  of  the  illus- 
tration. It  is  only  one  among  many  various  types 
of  ants'  nests  built  by  different  species.  From  out- 
side, all  you  can  see  of  it  is  a  confused  mass  of  dry 

179 


i8o  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

pine-needles,  arranged  in  a  barrow-shaped  hill  or 
mound,  some  eight  feet  across  at  the  base,  and  two 


NO.  i.— A  WOOD  ANTS'  NEST,  EXTERIOR. 

feet  high.     But  that  is  in  reality  only  the  outwork 
or  top  storey  of  the  communal  habitation.    Beneath 


ABIDING  CITIES 


181 


it  lies  a  second  layer,  six  inches  thick,  composed 
entirely  of  roots  of  heather  and  rootlets  of  fir-trees, 
all  carefully  stripped  clean  of  bark,  and  making  a 
dry  foundation  for  the  warm  hillock  of  pine-needles. 


NO.    2. — A   WOOD   ANTS'    NEST,    INTERIOR  ;    EGGS,   GRUBS,    AND 
COCOONS,   WITH   WORKERS   ENGAGED   IN  TENDING  THEM. 


Below  this  woody  layer,  again,  the  ground  is  tun- 
nelled to  an  unknown  depth  by  long  subterranean 
galleries,  driven  right  through  a  stratum  of  solid 
sandstone.  These  inner  galleries  extend  not  only 


1 82  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

beneath  the  hillock,  but  also  all  round  it,  for 
wherever  you  step  the  soil  treads  soft,  and  gives 
beneath  your  foot  to  a  depth  of  six  or  eight  inches. 
This  illustrative  example  is  a  city  built  by  the  com- 
mon Wood  Ant.  I  have  had  another  just  like  it 
— an  insect  London — under  observation  for  three 
or  four  years  in  a  copse  on  a  spur  of  Hind  Head, 
not  far  from  my  cottage. 

In  No.  2  Mr.  Knock  has  represented  for  us,  with 
his  usual  skill,  a  very  small  section  of  such  a  city, 
"  all  a-growing  and  a-blowing," — all  engaged  in 
the  active  exercise  of  its  everyday  functions.  How 
it  came  into  being,  and  how  it  is  ruled  and  peopled, 
I  will  tell  you  a  little  later  on  ;  for  the  present,  I 
want  first  to  familiarise  you  with  the  general  course 
of  its  domestic  economy  in  practical  action.  We 
have  here  an  interior  view,  with  one  wall  removed, 
of  a  tunnel  or  gallery,  which  runs  through  the  soft 
upper  portion  of  the  nest,  composed  of  pine- 
needles  ;  together  with  a  small  piece  of  the  outer 
surface.  An  ant,  which  has  been  out  foraging  for 
food,  approaches  one  of  the  mouths  of  the  nest. 
Beneath  are  three  successive  floors  or  stages  of  the 
tunnel,  with  excavated  chambers,  each  appropriated 
to  its  own  particular  purpose.  In  the  upper  floor 
of  all,  we  see  two  groups  of  minute  eggs  awaiting 
their  hatching.  These  are  the  real  eggs,  not  the 
much  larger  things  sold  as  "  ants'  eggs  "  for  bird 
food  in  London,  which  are  really  the  pupae.  Four 
of  the  eggs  have  just  arrived  at  hatching  point  ; 
therefore,  one  of  the  careful  nurses  who  look  after 
them  is  seen  just  in  the  act  of  bundling  them  over 


ABIDING  CITIES  183 

on  to  stage  two,  which  is  the  floor  here  reserved 
for  the  nursery  of  the  hatched-out  grubs  or  larvae. 
In  this  second  stage  you  see  a  chamber  with  a 
group  of  such  grubs,  all  hungry  and  greedy,  wait- 
ing for  their  nurses  to  bring  them  food  from  outside 
the  household.  Observe  the  obvious  expectancy  of 
their  attitude,  with  heads  held  up,  like  that  of  small 
birds  clamouring  eagerly  for  food  when  their  mother 
approaches  them  with  a  worm  or  a  caterpillar. 
After  feeding  for  some  time  in  this  legless,  grub- 
bish  condition,  the  larva  turns  into  a  pupa,  and 
encloses  itself  in  a  cocoon.  One  larva  has  just  com- 
pleted this  happy  transformation,  and  a  watchful 
nurse  ant  is  therefore  at  this  moment  engaged  in 
carrying  it  tenderly  a  stage  lower  down  to  the  floor 
reserved  for  the  chrysalis  condition.  On  the  third 
floor,  below,  you  see  a  group  of  pupae  lying  by  in 
the  dark,  and  awaiting  their  development.  The 
wall  ot  one  cocoon  has  here  been  removed,  and 
within  you  may  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  imprisoned 
grub,  now  recently  transformed  into  the  adult  ant 
pattern.  Of  course,  the  nest  contains  many  hun- 
dreds of  such  tunnelled  galleries,  all  teeming  with 
life,  and  all  made  up  of  several  distinct  chambers. 
Now,  how  does  such  a  nest  begin  to  be  ?  Well, 
it  starts  from  a  queen,  or  perfect  female,  who  sets 
out  with  a  few  others  to  form  a  colony.  This 
colony  soon  grows,  but  it  is  rather  a  republic  than 
an  Amazon  kingdom,  like  the  hive  of  bees  or  the 
nest  of  wasps.  It  is  composed  of  several  perfect 
females  (instead  of  one  queen),  numerous  imper- 
fect females  or  workers,  and  a  few  males,  who,  as 


1 84  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

is  usual  among  social  insects,  are  very  unimport- 
ant and  unconsidered  creatures.  The  males  and 
females  are  winged  when  they  first  emerge  from 
their  cocoons,  and  they  use  their  wings  for  their 
marriage  flight,  which  is  a  recognised  institution 
among  all  insect  socialists.  But  as  soon  as  the 
perfect  females  have  been  safely  wedded,  their 
wings  drop  off ;  or,  in  cases  where  they  do  not 
fall  of  themselves,  the  insects  themselves  wriggle 
and  pull  them  off  with  their  legs  in  the  most 
comic  fashion.  I  have  sometimes  seen  a  dinner- 
table  in  Jamaica  covered  by  a  sudden  irruption  of 
female  winged  ants  of  tropical  species,  which  in- 
sisted on  immolating  themselves  in  the  soup  and 
the  wine  (to  the  advantage  of  neither  party),  while 
others  blackened  the  table-cloth,  and  devoted  them- 
selves to  getting  rid  of  their  wings  with  unpleasant 
gyrations.  As  for  the  males,  they  are  of  no  further 
use  to  the  community,  so  they  die  at  once..  But 
the  mass  of  the  larvae  develop  into  imperfect  females 
or  workers,  which  are  always  wingless  from  the  very 
first,  and  it  is  these  that  form  the  ordinary  ants  of 
the  everyday  observer.  In  many  kinds  there  are 
also  two  types  of  neuters  :  the  one  type,  workers 
proper,  have  rather  large  heads  and  moderate  jaws 
— they  are  the  foragers  and  builders  of  the  com- 
munity ;  the  other  type,  soldiers,  have  still  bigger 
heads  and  very  powerful  jaws — it  is  their  task  to 
fight  in  defence  of  their  native  city.  Other  differ- 
ences of  less  importance  will  come  out  in  the  course 
of  our  subsequent  explanation. 

The  winged  ants  have  large  and  many-faceted 


ABIDING  CITIES  185 

compound  eyes,  to  aid  them  in  their  flight  abroad  ; 
and  they  have  also  single  eyelets  or  ocelli,  as  in  the 
case  of  the  wasp,  which  seem  to  be  useful  to  them 
in  finding  the  way  over  large  areas,  as  the  com- 
pound eyes  are  probably  designed  for  nearer  and 
minuter  vision.  But  the  workers  have  always  the 
true  eyes  small,  and  often  rudimentary  ;  while  the 
eyelets  or  ocelli  are  mostly  wanting.  To  put  it 
plainly,  they  are  almost  blind.  There  can  be  very 
little  doubt  that  their  principal  organ  of  sense 
resides  in  the  antennae,  or  feelers,  which  are  pro- 
bably used  in  part  for  smelling.  Whatever  may 
be  the  perceptive  function  which  these  curious 
appendages  subserve,  however,  nobody  who  has 
watched  ants  closely  ever  doubts  that  they  are  also 
used  as  a  means  of  intercommunication,  almost 
analogous  to  human  language.  Whenever  two 
ants  of  the  same  nest  meet,  they  stop  and  parley 
with  one  another  by  waving  and  crossing  their 
antennae  ;  so  obvious  is  it,  that  the  information 
thus  conveyed  makes  one  ant  follow  another  to- 
wards a  source  of  food,  or  other  object  of  interest, 
which  the  first  ant  has  discovered,  that  the  pro- 
cess is  universally  described  by  ant  observers  as 
"  talking." 

In  No.  3  we  get  an  illustration  of  two  workers 
belonging  to  an  English  species  known  as  the 
Warrior  Ant,  from  its  predatory  habits,  engaged 
in  just  such  a  profound  confab  together.  They 
are  meditating  war,  and  discussing  a  plan  of  cam- 
paign with  one  another  ;  for  the  Warrior  Ant  is  a 
slave-making  species.  It  is  a  large  red  kind,  and  it 


1 86  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

makes  raids  against  nests  of  the  small  yellow  Turf 
Ant, '  a  mild  and  docile  race,  large  numbers  of 
which  it  carries  off  to  act  as  servants.  But  it  does 
not  steal  fullyrgrown  Turf  Ants  ;  their  habits  are 
formed,  and  they  would  be  useless  for  such  a  pur- 
pose. What  the  Warrior  Ant  wants  is  raw  material 
which  can  be  turned  into  thoroughly  well-trained 
servants.  So  it  merely  kills  the  adult  ants  which 
strive  to  oppose  its  aggression,  and  contents  itself 


NO.    3. — A   CONVERSATION:    "  LET'S   GO   SLAVE-HUNTING!" 

with  trundling  home  to  its  own  nest  the  larvae  and 
pupae  of  the  Turf  Ants  which  it  has  put  to  flight 
and  vanquished.  In  process  of  time,  these  grubs 
and  cocoons  produce  full-grown  yellow  workers, 
which,  having  never  known  freedom,  can  be  taught 
by  the  Warrior  Ants  to  act  as  nurses  and  House- 
maids, exactly  as  if  they  were  living  in  their  own 
proper  city.  I  once  saw  in  a  garden  in  Algiers  a 
great  pitched  battle  going  on  between  slave-makers 


ABIDING  CITIES  187 

and  the  family  of  the  future  slaves,  in  which  the 
ground  was  strewn  with  the  corpses  of  the  van- 
quished. Not  till  the  nest  of  the  smaller  ants  was 
almost  exterminated  did  they  retire  from  the  un- 
equal contest,  and  allow  the  proud  invader  to  carry 
off  their  brothers  and  sisters  in  their  cocoons,  asleep 
and  unconscious. 

The  two  ants  figured  in  No.  3  are  deliberating 
on  the  chances  of  such  a  cocoon-lifting  expedition. 
The  one  to  the  right  has  been  hunting  for  honey 
up  the  stems  of  vetches,  and  has  fallen  in  by  the 
way  with  a  small  nest  of  Turf  Ants.  Returning 
post-haste  to  her  own  home,  big  with  this  exciting 
intelligence,  she  encounters  a  comrade,  to  whom 
she  communicates,  in  antennae  language,  her  belief 
that  the  Turf  Ants  she  has  discovered  are  not  very 
numerous,  and  her  conviction  that  they  would  fall 
an  easy  prey  to  a  well- organised  party  of  Warrior 
raiders.  The  two  friends  cross  their  antennae  as 
they  talk,  wave  them  mysteriously  about,  and  evi- 
dently succeed  in  conveying  their  respective  views 
on  the  situation  to  one  another.  After  a  short 
delay,  both  return,  all  agog,  to  the  nest  together, 
and  rouse  the  guard  with  intelligence  of  plenty  of 
pupae  ready  to  be  plundered.  At  once  the  city 
hums,  alive  with  bustle  and  preparation.  Workers 
run  to  and  fro  and  communicate  orders  from  head- 
quarters to  one  another.  "There's  a  big  slave- 
hunt  on  ;  sister-fighter  so-and-so  has  just  brought 
news  of  a  city  of  Turfites,  quite  near,  and  unpro- 
tected. The  doors  are  open,  and  she  noticed  as 
she  passed  that  the  sentries  looked  most  lax  and 


1 88  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

indifferent.  The  whole  place  has  apparently  been 
demoralised  by  a  recent  marriage  flight.  Every- 
body in  our  nest  is  going  to  the  war.  Come  along 
and  help  us  !  " 

Forthwith  they  sally  out,  and  make  for  the  city 
of  the  despised  yellow  Turfites.  They  fall  upon 
it  unexpectedly,  and  kill  the  outer  sentries.  Then 
the  battle  begins  in  earnest.  Half  the  Turfites  rush 
out  in  battle  array,  and,  banding  themselves  to- 
gether, to  make  up  for  their  individual  small  size, 
fall  fiercely  upon  this  or  that  isolated  Warrior. 
Occasionally,  by  dint  of  mere  numbers,  they  beat 
off  the  invader  with  heavy  loss  ;  but  much  more 
often,  the  large  and  strong-jawed  Warriors  win  the 
day,  and  destroy  to  a  worker  the  opposing  forces. 
They  crush  their  adversaries'  heads  with  their  vice- 
like  mandibles.  Meanwhile,  within  the  nest,  the 
other  half  of  the  workers — the  division  told  off  as 
special  nurses — are  otherwise  employed  in  defend- 
ing and  protecting  the  rising  generation.  At  the 
first  alarm,  at  the  first  watchword  passed  with 
waving  antennae  through  tne  nest,  "A  Warrior 
host  is  attacking  us  ! "  they  hurry  to  the  chambers 
where  the  cocoons  are  stored,  and  bear  them  off 
in  their  mouths  into  the  recesses  of  the  nest,  the 
lowest  and  most  inaccessible  of  all  the  chambers. 
When  at  last  the  day  is  lost,  the  Warriors  break  in 
and  steal  all  the  pupae  they  can  lay  their  jaws 
upon ;  but  many  survive  in  the  long,  dark  tunnels, 
with  a  few  devoted  workers  still  left  to  tend  and 
teach  them. 

No.  4  shows  us  the  final  stage  in  such  a  slave- 


ABIDING  CITIES 


189 


hunt.  The  big  red  Warriors  have  won  ;  the  little 
yellow  Turfites  have  been  repulsed  and  defeated 
with  great  slaughter.  The  victors  are  at  present 
engaged  in  carrying  captured  cocoons  to  their  own 
nests  ;  there  the  pupae  will  hatch  out  shortly  into 
willing  slaves,  and,  never  having  known  any  other 
condition,  will  take  it  for  granted  that  the  natural 
post  for  small  yellow  ants  is  to  clean  and  forage 
and  catch  food  for  big  red  ones. 

Our  own  Warrior  Ants  are  slave-holders  which 


NO.  4. — A  SLAVE-HUNT  J  CONQUERORS  CARRYING  OFF  THE 
COCOONS  OF  THE   ENEMY. 

still  retain  some  power  of  working  and  acting  for 
themselves ;  but  there  are  other  species  in  which 
the  "  peculiar  institution  "  has  produced  its  usual 
degrading  result  by  rendering  the  slave-owner  in- 
capable and  degenerate,  a  mere  fighting  do-nothing. 
Among  the  Amazon  ants,  which  are  very  confirmed 
slave-makers,  Sir  John  Lubbock  found  that  a  great 
lady,  left  alone  without  slaves,  in  the  presence  of 
food,  did  not  even  know  how  to  feed  herself  ;  she 
was  positively  starving  to  death  in  the  midst  of 


190 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


plenty.  Then  Sir  John  provided  her  with  a  single 
slave  ;  instantly,  the  industrious  little  creature  set 
to  work  to  clean  and  arrange  her  mistress,  and  to 
offer  her  food.  This  is  a  striking  illustration  of  the 
moral  truth  that  slavery  is  at  least  as  demoralising 
for  the  master  as  for  his  servant. 

No.   5   introduces   us  to  a  passing   phase   in   a 
combat  of  ants — a  life-and-death  conflict  between 

two  single  an- 
tagonists. Ants, 
indeed,  are  des- 
perate fighters  ; 
the  workers  and 
perfect  females 
have  sometimes 
stings,  like  the 
bees  and  wasps  ; 
but  in  most 
species  they 
fight  by  biting 
with  their  jaws, 
which  are  moul- 
ded into  strong 

and  vice-like  nippers  or  pincers.  Moreover,  they 
have  a  gland  which  secretes  the  same  poisonous 
material  as  that  contained  in  the  venom-bag  of  the 
sting  among  wasps  and  bees ;  and  after  the  ant  has 
made  a  hole  with  her  jaw  in  her  enemy's  armour, 
she  injects  into  it  a  little  of  this  painful  irritating 
acid,  which  kills  small  insects.  During  a  battle, 
ants  are  all  most  reckless  of  their  own  lives ;  indeed, 
no  ant  seems  ever  to  consider  herself  by  compari- 


Et 


NO.    5.— PAYING   OFF   OLD   SCORES:    A  LIFE- 
AND-DEATH   CONFLICT. 


ABIDING  CITIES 


191 


son  with  the  interests  of  the  community  at  large. 
The  individual  exists  for  the  estate  alone,  and 
sacrifices  her  life  and  happiness,  automatically  as 
it  were,  on  behalf  of  her  city. 

In  No.  6  we  see  an  illustration 
of   the   great   muscular   strength 
possessed  by  ants,  especially  in 
their  gripping  jaws  or  mandibles. 
Here,  two  comrades  have  got  hold 
of  a  dead  and  rigid  prey,  which 
they  are  striving  to  carry  off  by 
main  force  to  the  nest ;  for  ants 
are  omnivorous.     They  feed  off 
whatever  turns  up  handy  ;  all  is 
fish   that   comes   to   their   net — 
they     seem     almost     indifferent 
whether   what    they   dine   off    is 
honey  or  honeydew,  a  worm  or  a 
beetle,  a  dead 
bird  or  a  de- 
parted   lizard. 
A  few  workers 
will  seize  what- 
ever    edible 
object        they 
happen  to  find, 
and    combine 
to     drag      it 

away,  by  pushing  and  pulling,  to  the  underground 
chambers.  In  this  particular  case  the  two  ants 
began  by  hauling  together  ;  but  the  lower  one, 
giving  one  good  tug  with  her  jaws,  has  succeeded 


NO.  6.— A  LONG  PULL,  AND  A  STRONG  PULL, 
BUT  NOT  ALL  TOGETHER. 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

in  raising  the  whole  carcass  aloft,  and  hoisting  up 
her  astonished  neighbour  into  the  air  on  top  of  it. 
It  is  impossible  to  watch  a  nest  of  ants  at  work 
for  any  length  of  time  without  being  the  spectator 
of  many  such  comic  little  episodes. 

I  implied  above  that  ants  are  very  fond  of  honey. 
But  plants  by  no  means  desire  their  attentions  ; 
because,  being  creeping  creatures,  guided  mainly 
by  the  sense  of  smell,  they  crawl  up  the  stems  of 
one  species  after  another,  indiscriminately,  and  so 
do  no  good  in  setting  the  seeds  of  any  particular 
kind  of  flower.  To  baffle  them,  accordingly,  many 
plants  cover  their  stems  with  downward-pointing 
hairs,  which  prove  to  the  ants  as  impenetrable  an 
obstacle  as  tropical  jungles  to  the  human  explorer; 
while  other  sorts  set  various  traps  like  lobster- 
pots  on  their  stalks,  to  catch  and  imprison  the 
unwelcome  visitors.  But  the  wild  vetches  have 
a  still  more  curious  and  instructive  habit,  shared 
by  not  a  few  other  ingenious  plants.  They  buy 
off  the  intruders  by  an  organised  system  of  black- 
mail. Below  the  flowers  intended  for  fertilisation 
by  flying  insects,  which  flit  straight  from  one 
blossom  to  another  of  the  same  kind,  the  vetches 
put  some  arrow-shaped  guards  or  stipules,  so 
arranged  like  barriers  on  the  stem  that  a  prying 
ant  cannot  easily  creep  past  them.  In  the  centre 
of  each  stipule,  however,  the  plant  produces  a  little 
black  gland,  which  secretes  honey.  This  honey  is 
a  bribe  to  the  marauding  ant  ;  the  vetch  puts  it 
there  in  order  that  the  insect,  finding  its  progress 
toward  the  flower  blocked,  may  just  stop  en  route 


ABIDING  CITIES  193 

and  sip  this  pittance  of  nectar,  leaving  the  richer 
and  more  valuable  stock  of  honey  in  the  actual 
blossom  to  be  rifled  by  the  bees  which  are  the 
honoured  guests  and  allies  of  the  vetches.  Nature 
is  all  full  of  such  quaint  plots  and  counterplots. 
One  example  occurs  in  a  South  American  tree,  so 
very  remarkable  that  I  cannot  pass  it  by  even  in 
this  hasty  notice. 

A  certain  ant,  very  common  in  Brazil,  has  the 
habit  of  cutting  large  round  pieces  out  of  the  leaves 
of  trees,  which  it  then  conveys  to  its  nest  for  the 
purpose  of  growing  fungi  upon  them — in  human 
language,  -making  tiny  mushroom-beds.  Now,  this 
habit  is  naturally  obnoxious  to  the  trees,  which 
produce  the  leaves  for  their  own  advantage,  not 
for  the  sake  of  leaf-cutting  ants  which  hack  and 
rob  them.  To  guard  against  the  burglarious  leaf- 
cutters,  accordingly,  one  clever  South  American 
acacia  has  hit  upon  an  excellent  plan  of  defence. 
It  produces  curious  hollow  thorns  ;  while  each 
leaflet  has  a  gland  at  its  base  which  secretes  honey. 
Into  these  hollow  thorns,  colonies  of  a  small  and 
harmless  ant  migrate,  and  take  up  their  abode 
there.  They  live  off  the  honey  at  the  base  of  the 
leaflets.  They  thus  acquire  a  vested  interest  in  the 
acacia  tree,  which  is  their  home  and  territory ;  and 
whenever  the  leaf-cutting  ants  attack  the  acacia, 
the  little  occupants  of  the  thorns  and  owners  of 
the  honey-chambers  pour  out  upon  them  in  their 
thousands,  and  compel  the  invaders  to  beat  a  hasty 
retreat  with  heavy  losses.  Thus  the  cunning  tree 
supplies  its  insect  body-guard  with  board  and 

N 


194  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

lodging   in   return   for  efficient  protection  against 
the  dreaded  onslaught  of  the  common  enemy. 

And  now  that  I  have  succeeded,  I  hope,  in  in- 
teresting you  a  little  in  the  habits  of  ants,  I  am 
going  to  tell  you  a  few  facts  about  their  structure. 
That  is  my  dodginess,  you  see ;  I  knew  if  I  began 
by  giving  you  details  of  legs  and  body  and  seg- 
ments,  you  would  vote  the  whole  thing  dry  ;  but 


NO.    7.— THE   GARDEN   ANT — PORTRAIT   OF  A   WORKER. 

now  that  you  understand  wrhat  sort  of  objects  the 
ant  wants  to  attain,  you  may  be  content  to  examine 
the  organs  she  attains  them  with. 

In  No.  7  you  have  a  portrait  of  the  common 
Garden  Ant  of  England,  one  of  the  most  interest- 
ing creatures  in  the  world  to  watch  in  action. 
This  is  a  worker  specimen  ;  therefore,  it  has  a 
very  big  head,  with  very  powerful  jaws  ;  and  \vhen 


ABIDING  CITIES  195 

you  remember  that  ants  work  for  the  most  part 
with  the  head  only,  you  will  understand  why  that 
portion  needs  to  be  the  most  muscular  and  power- 
ful part  of  the  body.  A  lobster  has  two  very 
strong  claws  in  front,  because  those  are  his  fight- 
ing and  prey-catching  organs  ;  the  ant's  jaws 
just  answer  in  function  to  the  lobster's  claws, 
and  to  our  hands  and  arms,  and,  therefore,  they 
are  correspondingly  big  and  muscular.  Male  and 
female  ants  do  not  have  to  dig  tunnels,  to  build 
up  chambers,  to  drag  heavy  weights  back  to  the 
nest  ;  therefore,  they  have  smaller  heads  and 
bigger  eyes  ;  they  are  adapted  only  for  flying 
and  for  producing  the  younger  generation.  The 
middle  segments  of  the  body,  on  the  contrary, 
are  large  and  powerful  in  the  males  and  females, 
because  they  have  to  work  the  wings  ;  while  in 
the  workers  they  are  smaller,  especially  in  one 
segment,  because  the  workers  are  wingless.  The 
legs,  however,  are  fairly  strong,  since  they  need 
to  pull  and  to  supply  a  firm  footing  when  the 
ant  is  tugging  hard  at  some  heavy  object.  But 
between  the  part  of  the  body  which  forms  the 
attachment  for  the  six  legs  and  the  abdomen, 
or  "  tail,"  there  is  a  single  characteristic  segment, 
or  stalk,  very  thin  and  slender,  which  bears  a 
sort  of  scale,  peculiar  to  the  ant  family.  The 
side  view,  with  the  legs  removed,  enables  you 
to  note  how  admirably  the  ant  is  adapted  for 
turning  in  almost  any  direction,  and  explains 
that  extraordinary  flexibility  of  body  which  you 
must  have  noticed  whenever  you  have  watched 


196  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

a  troop  of  ants  trying  to  drag  a  de'ad  insect  over 
a  gravel  path,  and  surmounting  all  obstacles  with 
clumsy  ingenuity.  Ants,  in  short,  are  built  for 
navvies ;  they  are  insect  engineers,  and  they  have 
acquired  a  form  exactly  adapted  to  their  peculiar 
habits. 

But  why  are  the  worker  ants  so  nearly  blind  ? 
That    must    surely    be    a    disadvantage    to    them. 

Not  a  bit  of  it. 
Ants  work  mainly 
in  dark  under- 
ground passages, 
where  the  sense 
of  sight  would  be 
of  little  use  ;  and, 
moreover,  like  all 
hunting  animals, 
they  find  smell 
more  important  as 
an  indicator  of 

NO.  8. — HEAD  OF  GARDEN  ANT,  WITH  EYES,     food      in      the      Open 
ANTENNA,  JAWS,  AND  FEELERS.  than      ViSiOn.         The 

hound     does      not 

look  for  the  fox — he  sniffs  and  scents  him.  Now, 
whenever  any  sense  is  relatively  unimportant,  an 
economy  may  be  effected  by  suppressing  or  cur- 
tailing it  ;  the  material  that  would  otherwise  go  to 
making  and  repairing  its  organ  is  more  profitably 
employed  on  some  better  work  elsewhere.  Ants 
are  obviously  descendants  of  flying  ancestors,  none 
of  which  were  workers  ;  and  the  flying  males  and 
females  possess  to  this  day  the  organs  of  sight 


ABIDING  CITIES  197 

necessary  for  their  habits.  But  in  the  class  of 
workers  it  has  been  found  more  useful,  on  the 
whole,  to  concentrate  attention  on  smell  and  on 
strength  of  jaw  than  on  sight  and  flight :  the 
important  point  is  that  the  worker  ant  should  be 
able  to  find  scattered  foodstuffs,  and  should  be 
strong  enough  to  pull  them  back  to  the  city.  So 
in  No.  8  you  get  a  front  view  of  the  head  of  the 
common  Garden  Ant ;  and  you  will  see  for  your- 
self that  its  eyes,  when  compared  with  the  nume- 


NO.   9.— BACK   VIEW   OF   HEAD,    WITH  JAWS   OPEN,    AND   ORGANS 
EXPANDED. 


rous  eyelets  and  large  compound  organs  of  the 
wasp,  are  relatively  imperfect  ;  while  its  antennae 
are  large  and  fully  developed  appendages.  They 
turn  in  a  beautiful  ball-and-socket  joint,  which 
enables  them  to  move  freely  in  every  direction. 
Now,  these  antennae  quite  clearly  serve  several 
most  important  uses  in  ant  life.  They  are  the 
organs  of  speech  in  ants,  as  well  as  the  organs 
of  a  special  sense  ;  just  as,  with  ourselves,  the 
mouth  is  used  equally  for  tasting  and  talking. 


198  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

Darwin  said  with  justice,  indeed,  that,  consider- 
ing its  size,  the  brain  of  an  ant  was  perhaps  the 
most  marvellous  piece  of  matter  in  the  whole 
universe  ;  and  its  raw  material  of  intelligence  is 
apparently  supplied  it  most  of  all  through  the 
mysterious  antennae. 

No.  9  is  a  back  view  of  the  same  head,  with 
the  various  jaws  and  mouthpieces  expanded.  It 
shows  very  well  the  complicated  nature  of  the 
tongue,  the  palps,  the  shield,  and  so  forth,  and 
also  the  powerful  nipping  jaws,  with  their  closely 
serrated  and  tooth-like  edge  —  these  last  being 
the  weapons  used  in  battle  and  in  repelling  the 
attacks  of  large  enemies.  It  also  excellently  ex- 
hibits the  complex  arrangement  of  the  beautiful 
jointed  antennae.  The  black  spot  in  the  centre 
of  the  head  above  is  the  cut  neck,  or  esophagus. 
I  advise  you  to  look  closely  at  the  mouth-organs 
in  this  microscopic  drawing,  and  to  compare  them 
with  the  corresponding  parts  in  the  wasp,  illus- 
trated by  Mr.  Enock  in  the  last  chapter. 

Considering  how  important  the  antennae  are, 
it  will  not  surprise  you  to  learn  that  the  clean 
little  ants  have  a  special  instrument,  like  the  bees 
and  wasps,  for  keeping  these  useful  outgrowths 
in  proper  order.  The  singular  brush-and-comb 
with  which  they  clean  them  is  shown  in  No.  10, 
together  with  a  smaller  representation  of  the  entire 
leg  on  which  it  exists,  so  as  to  enable  you  to 
see  where  the  ant  carries  it.  Ants,  indeed,  are 
as  fond  of  washing  themselves  as  cats  ;  and  when 
any  accident  happens  to  one,  such  as  getting 


ABIDING  CITIES 


199 


smeared  with  honey,  you  will  see  the  little 
creature  carefully  getting  rid  of  the  foreign  body 
with  her  hairy  legs,  and  paying  particular  atten- 
tion to  her  precious  antennae.  The  mere  exist- 
ence of  such  developed  brushes  is  sufficient  to 


NO.    I0t — THE   ANT'S   BRUSH-AND-COMB,    FOR   CLEANING 
THK   ANTENNA. 


prove  the  immense  importance  of  the  organs  they 
clean  to  the  bee-and-ant  order. 

The  life-history  of  an  ant  falls  into  four  periods 
or  ages  :  the  egg,  the  grub,  the  pupa,  and  the 
perfect  insect.  The  eggs,  which  are  very  tiny, 


2oo  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

are  white  or  yellowish,  and  somewhat  elongated  ; 
those  observed  by  Sir  John  Lubbock,  the  great 
authority  on  ants,  have  taken  a  month  or  six 
weeks  to  hatch.  The  larvae,  like  the  young  of 
bees  and  wasps,  are  white,  legless  grubs,  narrow 
towards  the  head.  The  picture  in  No.  2,  indeed, 
only  imperfectly  suggests  the  constant  care  with 
which  they  are  tended  by  the  nurses  in  early 
life  ;  for  they  are  carried  about  from  room  to 
room  at  different  times,  apparently  to  secure  the 
exactly  proper  degree  of  warmth  or  moisture  ; 
and  they  are  also  often  assorted  in  a  sliding-scale 
of  ages.  "  It  is  sometimes  very  curious  to  see 
them  in  my  nests,"  says  Sir  John  Lubbock, 
"  arranged  in  groups  according  to  size,  so  that 
they  remind  one  of  a  school  divided  into  five  or 
six  classes."  After  a  longer  or  shorter  period  of 
grubhood,  which  differs  in  length  in  different 
species,  they  turn  into  pupae,  either  in  a  cocoon 
or  naked.  It  takes  the  insects  three  or  four 
weeks,  in  the  pupa  form,  to  develop  into  full- 
grown  ants  ;  and  even  when  they  have  finished, 
they  are  as  helpless  as  babies,  and  could  not 
escape  from  the  cocoon  but  for  the  kind  offices 
of  the  worker  attendants.  "  It  is  pretty  to  see 
the  older  ants  helping  them  to  extricate  them- 
selves, carefully  unfolding  the  legs  and  smooth- 
ing out  the  wings"  of  the  males  and  females, 
"  with  truly  feminine  tenderness  and  delicacy." 
This  utter  helplessness  of  the  young  ant  is  very 
interesting  for  comparison  with  the  case  of  man  ; 
for  it  is  now  known  that  nothing  conduces  to 


ABIDING  CITIES  201 

the  final  intellectual  and  moral  supremacy  of  a 
race  so  much  as  the  need  for  tending  and  care- 
fully guarding  the  young  ;  the  more  complete  the 
dependence  of  the  offspring  upon  their  elders,  the 
finer  and  higher  the  ultimate  development. 

Ants  are  likewise  great  domesticators  of  various 
other  animals  ;  indeed,  as  I  have  said  before, 
they  keep  many  more  kinds  of  flocks  and  herds 
in  confinement  than  we  ourselves  do.  There  is 
a  funny  little  pallid  creature,  called  Beckia,  an 
active,  bustling  small  thing,  remotely  resembling 
a  minute  earwig-larva,  which  runs  in  and  out 
among  the  ants  in  great  numbers,  keeping  its 
antennae  always  in  a  state  of  perpetual  vibra- 
tion. The  nests  also  harbour  a  queer,  armour- 
plated  white  wood-louse,  whose  long  Latin-German 
name  I  mercifully  spare  you  ;  and  this  strange 
beast  toddles  about  quite  familiarly  among  the 
ants  in  the  galleries.  Both  kinds  must  have  been 
developed  in  ants'  nests  from  darker  animals  ; 
and  both  are  blind,  from  long  residence  in  the 
dark  underground  tunnels  which  they  never  quit  ; 
their  lightness  of  colour  and  the  disappearance 
of  their  eyes  tend  alike  to  show  that  they  and 
their  ancestors  have  resided  for  countless  ages  in 
the  homes  of  the  ants.  Yet  no  ant  ever  seems 
to  take  the  slightest  notice  of  them.  Still,  there 
they  are,  and  the  ants  tolerate  their  presence  ; 
while  an  unauthorised  interloper,  as  Sir  John 
Lubbock  remarks,  would  at  once  be  set  upon 
and  killed.  The  accomplished  entomologist  in 
question  suggests  that  they  may  perhaps  act  as 


202  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

scavengers,  like  the  wild  dogs  of  Constantinople 
or  the  turkey-buzzard  vultures  of  the  West  Indies 
and  South  America.  I  have  sometimes  almost 
been  inclined  to  suspect,  myself,  that  they  may  be 
kept  as  totems,  much  as  human  savages  domesti- 
cate one  of  their  revered  ancestral  animals  as  an 
object  of  worship. 

In  other  cases  the  relation  between  the  ants 
and  their  domesticated  animals  is  more  distinctly 
economical.  For  instance,  there  is  a  blind  beetle 
—  most  ant-cattle  are  blind  from  long  residence 
in  the  tunnels — which  has  actually  lost  the  power 
of  feeding  itself  ;  but  the  ants  feed  it  with  their 
own  food,  and  then  caress  it  with  their  antennae, 
apparently  in  order  to  make  it  give  forth  some 
pleasant  secretion.  This  secretion  seems  to  be 
poured  out  by  a  tuft  of  hairs  at  the  base  of  the 
beetle's  hard  wing-cases  ;  these  tufts  of  hair  the 
ants  take  into  their  mouths  and  lick  all  over  with 
the  greatest  relish.  Some  ant  tribes  even  strike 
up  an  alliance  with  other  ants  of  a  different 
species,  whose  nest  they  frequent  and  whom  they 
follow  in  all  their  wanderings.  Thus,  there  is  a 
very  tiny  yellow  ant,  known  as  Stenamma,  which 
takes  up  its  abode  in  the  galleries  of  the  much 
larger  Horse  Ants  and  Field  Ants.  When  these 
big  friends  change  their  quarters  to  a  new  nest, 
as  frequently  happens,  the  tiny  Stenammas  accom- 
pany them,  " -running  about  among  them,"  says 
Sir  John  Lubbock,  "  and  between  their  legs,  tap- 
ping them  inquisitively  with  their  antennae,  and 
even  sometimes  climbing  on  to  their  backs,  as 


ABIDING  CITIES  203 

if  for  a  ride,  while  the  large  ants  seem  to  take 
little  notice  of  them.  They  almost  seem  to  be 
the  dogs,  or  perhaps  the  cats,  of  the  ants."  In 
yet  another  case,  a  wee  parasitic  kind  makes  its 
own  small  tunnels  in  and  out  among  those  of  a 
much  larger  species,  members  of  which  cannot 
get  at  the  petty  robbers,  because  they  are  them- 
selves too  big  to  enter  the  minute  galleries.  The 
depredators  are,  therefore,  quite  safe,  and  make 
incursions  into  the  nests  of  their  bigger  victims, 
whose  larvae  they  carry  off  and  devour — "  as  if 
we  had  small  dwarfs,  about  eighteen  inches  long, 
harbouring  in  the  walls  of  our  houses,  and  every 
now  and  then  carrying  off  some  of  our  children 
into  their  horrid  dens." 

When  once  one  begins  upon  these  fascinating 
insects,  the  difficulty  is  to  know  when  to  stop. 
But  I  have  said  enough,  I  hope,  to  suggest  to 
you  the  extraordinary  interest  of  the  study  of  ant 
life.  Even  if  observed  in  the  most  amateurish 
way,  it  affords  one  opportunities  for  endless 
amusing  glimpses  into  the  politics  of  a  community 
full  of  comic  episodes  and  tragic  denouements. 


IX 

A  FROZEN  WORLD 

THE  pond  in  the  valley  is  a  world  by  itself. 
So  far  as  its  inhabitants  are  concerned,  in- 
deed, it  is  the  whole  of  the  world.  For  a 
pond  without  an  outlet  is  like  an  oceanic  island  ; 
it  is  a  system,  a  microcosm,  a  tiny  society  apart, 
shut  off  by  impassable  barriers  from  all  else  around 
it.  As  the  sea  severs  Fiji  or  St.  Helena  from  the 
great  land-surface  of  the  continents,  so,  and  just  as 
truly,  the  fields  about  this  pond  sever  it  from  all 
other  inhabited  waters.  The  snails  and  roach  and 
beetles  that  dwell  in  it  know,  of  no  other  world  ; 
to  them,  the  pond  is  all  ;  the  shore  that  bounds  it 
is  the  world's  end  ;  their  own  little  patch  of  stag- 
nant water  is  the  universe. 

A  pond  which  empties  itself  into  a  river  by 
means  of  a  stream  or  brook  is  not  quite  so  iso- 
lated. It  has  points  of  contact  with  the  outer 
earth  :  it  resembles  rather  a  peninsula  than  an 
island :  it  is  the  analogue  of  Spain  or  Greece, 
not  of  Hawaii  or  Madeira.  And  you  will  see 
how  important  this  distinction  is  if  you  remember 
that  trout  and  stickleback  and  stone-loach  and 


A  FROZEN  WORLD  205 

fresh-water  mussels  can  ascend  the  river  into  the 
brook,  and  pass  by  the  brook  into  the  pond, 
which  has  thus  a  direct  line  of  communication 
with  all  waters  elsewhere,  including  even  the  great 
oceans.  But  the  pond  without  an  outlet  cannot 
thus  be  peopled.  Whatever  inhabitants  it  possesses 
have  come  to  it  much  more  by  pure  chance.  They 
are  not  able  to  walk  overland  from  one  pond  to 
another  ;  they  must  be  brought  there  somehow, 
by  insignificant  accidents.  Regarded  in  this  light, 
the  original  peopling  of  every  pond  in  England  is 
a  problem  in  itself — a  problem  analogous  in  its 
own  petty  way  to  the  problem  of  the  peopling  of 
oceanic  islands. 

That  great  and  accomplished  and  ingenious 
naturalist,  Mr.  Alfred  Russel  Wallace,  working 
in  part  upon  lines  long  since  laid  down  by 
Darwin,  has  shown  us  in  detail  how  oceanic 
islands  have  in  each  case  come  to  be  peopled. 
He  has  shown  us  how  they  never  contain  any 
large  indigenous  land  animals  belonging  to  the 
great  group  of  mammals — any  deer  or  elephants 
or  pigs  or  horses  ;  because  mammals,  being  born 
alive,  cannot,  of  course,  be  transported  in  the 
egg,  and  because  the  adult  beasts  could  seldom 
be  carried  across  great  stretches  of  ocean  by 
accident  without  perishing  on  the  way  of  cold, 
hunger,  or  drowning.  One  can  hardly  imagine 
an  antelope  or  a  buffalo  conveyed  safely  over 
sea  by  natural  causes  from  Africa  to  the  Cape 
Verdes,  or  from  America  to  the  Bermudas.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  therefore,  the  natural  population 


2o5  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

of  oceanic  islands  (for  I  need  hardly  say  I  set 
aside  mere  human  agencies)  consists  almost  en- 
tirely of  birds  blown  across  from  the  nearest  con- 
tinent, and  their  descendants ;  of  reptiles,  whose 
small  eggs  can  be  transported  in  logs  of  wood 
or  broken  trees  by  ocean  currents  ;  of  snails  and 
insects,  whose  still  tinier  spawn  can  be  conveyed 
for  long  distances  by  a  thousand  chances  ;  and  of 
such  trees,  herbs,  or  ferns  as  have  very  light  seeds 
or  spores,  easily  whirled  by  storms  (like  thistle- 
down), or  else  nuts  or  hard  fruits  which  may  be 
wafted  by  sea-streams  without  damage  to  the 
embryo.  For  the  most  part,  also,  the  plants  and 
animals  of  oceanic  islands  resemble  more  or  less 
closely  (with  locally  induced  differences)  those  of 
the  nearest  continent,  or  those  of  the  land  from 
which  the  prevailing  winds  blow  towards  them, 
or  those  of  the  country  whence  currents  run  most 
direct  to  the  particular  island.  They  are  waifs 
and  strays,  stranded  there  by  accident,  and  often 
giving  rise  in  process  of  time  to  special  local 
varieties  or  species. 

Now,  it  is  much  the  same  with  isolated  ponds. 
They  acquire  their  first  inhabitants  by  a  series  of 
small  accidents.  Perhaps  some  water-bird  from  a 
neighbouring  lake  or  river  alights  on  the  sticky 
mud  of  the  bank,  and  brings  casually  on  his 
webbed  feet  a  few  clinging  eggs  of  dace  or  chub, 
a  few  fragments  of  the  spawn  of  pond-snails  or 
water-beetles.  Paddling  about  on  the  brink,  he 
rubs  these  off  by  mere  chance  on  the  mud,  where 
they  hatch  in  time  into  the  first  colonists  of  the 


A  FROZEN  WORLD  207 

new  water-world.  Perhaps,  again,  a  heron  drops 
a  half-eaten  fish  into  the  water — a  fish  which  is 
dead  itself,  but  has  adhering  to  its  scales  or  gills  a 
few  small  fresh-water  crustaceans  and  mollusks. 
Perhaps  a  flood  brings  a  minnow  or  two  and  a 
weed  or  two  from  a  neighbouring  stream;  perhaps 
a  wandering  frog  trails  a  seed  on  his  feet  frcm 
one  pool  to  another.  By  a  series  of  such  acci- 
dents, each  trivial  in  itself,  an  isolated  pond 
acquires  its  inhabitants ;  and  you  will  therefore 
often  find  two  ponds  close  beside  one  another 
(but  not  connected  by  a  stream),  the  plants  and 
animals  of  which  are  nevertheless  quite  different. 

Now,  the  pond  in  summer  is  one  thing  ;  the 
pond  in  winter  is  quite  another.  For  just  reflect 
what  winter  means  to  this  little,  isolated,  self-con- 
tained community  !  The  surface  freezes  over,  and 
life  in  the  mimic  lake  is  all  but  suspended.  Not 
an  animal  in  it  can  rise  to  the  top  to  breathe  ;  not 
a  particle  of  fresh  oxygen  can  penetrate  to  the 
bottom.  Under  such  circumstances,  when  you 
come  to  think  of  it,  you  might  almost  suppose 
life  in  the  pond  must  cease  altogether.  But  nature 
knows  better.  With  her  infinite  cleverness,  her 
infinite  variety  of  resource,  of  adaptation  to  cir- 
cumstances, she  has  invented  a  series  of  extra- 
ordinary devices  for  allowing  all  the  plants  and 
animals  of  a  pond  to  retire  in  late  autumn  to  its 
unfrozen  depths,  and  there  live  a  dormant  exist- 
ence till  summer  comes  again.  Taking  them  in 
the  mass,  we  may  say  that  the  population  sink 
down  to  the  bottom  in  November  or  December, 


2o8  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

and   surge   up   again   in   spring,   though   in   most 
varied  fashions. 

Consider,  once  more,  the  curious  set  of  circum- 
stances which  renders  this  singular  plan  feasible. 
Water  freezes  at  32  degrees  Fahrenheit.  For  the 
most  part,  under  normal  conditions,  the  water  at 
the  top  of  the  pond  is  the  warmest,  and  that  at 
the  bottom  coldest  ;  for  the  hot  water,  being  ex- 
panded and  lighter,  rises  to  the  surface,  while  the 
cold  water,  being  contracted  and  heavier,  sinks  to 
the  depths.  If  this  relation  remained  unchanged 
throughout,  when  winter  came,  the  coldest  water 
would  gradually  congeal  at  the  bottom  of  the 
pool :  and  so  in  time  the  whole  pond  would 
freeze  solid.  In  that  case,  life  in  it  would  obvi- 
ously be  as  impossible  as  in  the  ice  of  the  frozen 
pole  or  in  the  glaciers  of  the  Alps.  But  by  a 
singular  variation,  just  before  water  freezes,  it 
begins  to  expand  again,  so  that  ice  is  lighter 
than  water.  Thus  the  ice  as  it  forms  rises  to 
the  surface,  and  leaves  at  the  bottom  a  layer  of 
slightly  warmer  water,  some  four  or  five  degrees 
above  freezing  point.  It  is  usual  to  point  this 
fact  out  as  a  beautiful  instance  of  special  pro- 
vision .on  the  part  of  nature  for  the  plants  and 
animals  which  live  in  the  ponds  ;  but  to  do  so, 
I  think,  is  to  go  just  a  step  beyond  our  evidence. 
Nature  does  not  fit  all  places  alike  for  the  develop- 
ment of  life  ;  she  does  not  fit  the  desert,  for  ex- 
ample, nor  the  interior  of  glaciers  or  frozen  oceans, 
nor,  for  the  matter  of  that,  the  rocks  of  the  earth's 
mass ;  nor  does  she  try  to  fit  living  beings  for  such 


A  FROZEN  WORLD  209 

impossible  situations.  All  we  are  really  entitled  to 
say  is  this — that  the  conditions  for  life  do  occur  in 
ponds,  owing  to  this  habit  of  water,  and  that  there- 
fore special  plants  and  animals  have  been  adapted 
by  nature  to  fulfil  them. 

The  devices  by  which  such  plants  and  animals 
get  over  the  difficulties  of  the  situation,  however, 
are  sufficiently  remarkable  to  satisfy  the  most  ex- 
acting. Recollect  that  for  some  weeks  together 
the  entire  pond  may  be  frozen  over,  and  that 
during  that  dreary  time  all  animal  or  vegetable 
life  at  its  surface  must  be  inevitably  destroyed. 
For  hardly  a  plant  or  an  animal  can  survive  the 
actual  freezing  of  its  tissues.  Nevertheless,  as  soon 
as  winter  sets  in,  the  creatures  which  inhabit  the 
pond  feel  the  cold  coming,  and  begin  to  govern 
themselves  accordingly.  A  few,  which  are  amphi- 
bious, migrate,  it  is  true,  to  more  comfortable 
quarters.  Among  these  are  the  smaller  newts  or 
efts,  which  crawl  ashore,  and  take  refuge  from  the 
frost  in  crannies  of  rocks  or  walls,  or  in  cool  damp 
cellars.  Most  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  pool,  how- 
ever, remain,  and  retire  for  warmth  and  safety  to 
the  depths.  Even  the  amphibious  frogs  themselves, 
which  have  hopped  ashore  on  their  stout  legs  in 
spring,  when  they  first  emerged  from  their  tadpole 
condition,  now  return  for  security  to  their  native 
pond,  bury  themselves  comfortably  in  the  mud  in 
the  depths,  and  sleep  in  social  clusters  through  the 
frozen  season.  They  are  not  long  enough  and 
lithe  enough  to  creep  into  crannies  above  ground 
like  the  newts  ;  and  with  their  soft  smooth  skins 

O 


2io  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

and  unprotected  bodies  they  would  almost  inevit- 
ably be  frozen  to  death  if  they  remained  in  the 
open.  On  the  bottom  of  the  pond,  however,  they 
huddle  close  and  keep  one  another  warm,  so  that 
portions  of  the  mud  in  the  centre  of  the  pool 
consist  almost  of  a  living  mass  of  frogs  and  other 
drowsy  animals. 

Some  of  the  larger  pond-dwellers  thus  hibernate 
in  their  own  persons  ;  others,  which  are  annuals, 
so  to  speak,  die  off  themselves  at  the  approach 
of  winter,  and  leave  only  their  eggs  to  vouch  for 
them  and  to  continue  the  race  on  the  return  of 
summer.  A  few  beetles  and  other  insects  split 
the  difference  by  hibernating  in  the  pupa  or  chry- 
salis condition,  when  they  would  have  to  sleep 
in  any  case,  and  emerging  as  full-fledged  winged 
forms  at  the  end  of  the  winter.  But  on  the  whole 
the  commonest  way  is  for  the  plant  or  animal 
itself  in  its  adult  shape  to  lurk  in  the  warm  mud 
of  the  bottom  during  the  cold  season. 

In  No.  i  we  have  an  excellent  illustration  of  this 
most  frequent  type,  in  the  person  of  the  beautiful 
pointed  pond-snail,  a  common  fresh-water  mol- 
lusk,  with  a  shell  so  daintily  pretty  that  if  it  did 
not  abound  we  would  prize  it  for  its  delicate 
transparent  amber  hue  and  its  graceful  tapering 
form,  resembling  that  of  the  loveliest  exotics.  This 
pond-snail,  though  it  lives  in  the  water,  is  an  air- 
breather,  and  therefore  it  hangs  habitually  on  the 
surface  of  the  pool,  opening  its  lung-sac  every  now 
and  then  to  take  in  a  fresh  gulp  of  air,  and  looking 
oddly  upside  down  as  it  floats,  shell  downward, 


A  FROZEN  WORLD  211 

in  its  normal  position.  It  browses  at  times  on  the 
submerged  weeds  in  the  pond  ;  but  it  has  to  come 
to  the  surface  at  frequent  intervals  to  breathe  ; 
though,  in  common  with  most  aquatic  air-breathers, 
it  can  go  a  long  time  without  a  new  store  of  oxy- 
gen, like  a  man  when  he  dives,  or  a  duck  or  swan 
when  it  feeds  on  the  bottom — of  course  to  a  much 
greater  degree,  because  the  snail  is  cold-blooded  ; 
that  is  to  say,  in  other  words,  needs  much  less 
aeration.  On  a  still  evening  in  summer  you  will 
often  find  the  surface  of  the  pond  covered  by 
dozens  of  these  pretty  shells,  each  with  its  slimy 
animal  protruded,  and  each  drinking  in  air  at  the 
top  by  its  open-mouthed  lung-sac. 

In  winter,  however,  as  you  see  in  No.  2,  our 
pond-snail  retires  to  the  mud  at  the  bottom,  and 
there  quietly  sleeps  away  the  cold  season.  Being 
a  cold-blooded  gentleman,  he  hibernates  easily, 
and  his  snug  nest  in  the  ooze,  where  he  buries 
himself  two  or  three  inches  deep,  leaves  him  re- 
latively little  exposed  to  the  attacks  of  enemies. 
Indeed,  since  the  whole  pond  is  then  sleeping  and 
hibernating  together,  there  is  small  risk  of  assault 
till  spring  comes  round  again. 

Now,  it  may  sound  odd  at  first  hearing  when  I 
tell  you  that  what  the  animals  thus  do,  the  plants 
do  also.  "  What  ?  "  you  will  say.  "  A  plant  move 
bodily  from  the  surface  of  the  water  and  bury 
itself  in  the  mud  !  It  seems  almost  incredible." 
But  the  accompanying  illustrations  of  one  such 
plant,  the  curled  pond-weed,  will  show  you  that 
the  aquatic  weeds  take  just  as  good  care  of 


212  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

themselves    against    winter    cold    as    the    aquatic 
animals. 

In  No.  3  you  see  a  shoot  of  curled  pond-weed 
preparing  to  receive  cold  attacks  at  the  approach 
of  autumn.  You  may  perhaps  have  noticed  for 


NO.    I. — THE   GREAT   POND-SNAIL   IN   SUMMER. 

yourself  that  almost  all  plants  of  stagnant  waters 
tend  to  be  freshest  and  most  vigorous  at  the  grow- 
ing end — the  upper  portion  ;  while  the  lower  and 
older  part  is  usually  more  or  less  eaten  away  by 
browsing  water  beasties,  or  incrusted  by  parasites, 
or  draggled  and  torn,  or  water-logged  and  mud- 


A  FROZEN  WORLD 


213 


smeared.  The  really  vital  part  of  the  plant  at 
each  moment  is,  as  a  rule,  the  top  or  growing 
shoot.  Now,  if  the  curled  pond-weed  were  to  let 
itself  get  overtaken  bodily  by  winter,  and  its  top 
branches  or  vigorous  shoots  frozen  in  the  crust  of 
ice  which  must  soon  coat  the  pond,  it  would  be  all 


NO.    2.— THE   GREAT    POND-SNAIL    IN    WINTER. 

up  with  it.  To  guard  against  this  calamity,  there- 
fore, the  plant  has  hit  upon  a  dodge  as  clever  in 
its  way  as  that  of  our  old  friend  the  soldanella, 
which  laid  by  fuel  to  melt  the  glacier  ice  in  the 
Alpine  springtide.  Prevention,  says  the  curled 
pond-weed,  is  better  than  cure.  So,  in  No.  3,  you 
catch  it  in  the  very  act  of  getting  ready  certain 


214  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

specialised  detachable  shoots,  which  are  its  liveliest 
parts,  and  in  which  all  the  most  active  protoplasm 
and  chlorophyll  (or  living  greenstuff  of  the  plant) 
are  collected  and  laid  by,  much  as  food  is  laid  by 
in  the  bulb  of  a  hyacinth  or  in  the  tuber  of  a 
dahlia.  These  shoots  are,  as  it  were,  leafy  bulbs, 


NO.  3.— THE  CURLED   POND-WEED    PRODUCING   ITS  WINTER   SHOOTS. 

meant  to  carry  the  life  of  the  plant  across  the  gulf 
of  winter. 

In  No.  4  we  come  upon  the  next  act  in  this 
curious  and  interesting  vegetable  drama.  Most 
people  regard  plants  as  mere  rooted  things,  with 
no  will  of  their  own,  and  no  power  of  movement. 


A  FROZEN  WORLD 


215 


In  reality,  plants,  though  usually  more  or  less 
attached  to  the  soil,  have  almost  as  many  tricks 
and  manners  of  their  own  as  the  vast  mass  of 
animals  ;  they  provide  in  the  most  ingenious  and 
varied  ways  for  the  most  diverse  emergencies. 
The  winter  shoots  of  the  curled  pond-weed,  for 


NO.   4. — THE   SHOOTS    DETACHING   THEMSELVES   AND   SINKING, 
BEFORE   THE   POND   FREEZES. 

example,  carrying  with  them  the  hopes  of  the  race 
for  a  future  season,  are  deliberately  arranged  be- 
forehand with  a  line  of  least  resistance,  a  point  of 
severance  on  the  stem,  at  which  in  the  fulness  of 
time  they  peaceably  detach  themselves.  You  can 
note  in  the  illustration  how  they  have  glided  off 


216 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


gently  from  the  parent  stalk,  and  are  now  sinking 
by  their  own  gravity  to  the  warmer  water  of  the 
bottom,  which  practically  never  freezes  in  winter. 
And  the  reason  why  they  sink  is  that,  being  full 
of  rich  living  greenstuff,  they  are  heavier  than 
the  water,  and  heavier  than  the  stem  which  pre- 


NO.  5. — THE   SHOOTS   ROOTING  AT  THE   BOTTOM   WHILE  THE  POND 
IS   FROZEN. 


viously  floated  them.  This  stem  has  many  air 
cavities  to  keep  it  fairly  erect  and  waving  in  the 
water  :  but  the  winter  shoots  have  none,  so  that 
as  soon  as  they  detach  themselves  they  sink  of 
their  own  mere  weight  to  the  bottom.  You  may 
notice  that  the  leaves  of  deciduous  trees  in  autumn 


A  FROZEN  WORLD 


217 


have  similar  lines,  ordained  beforehand,  along 
which  they  break  off  clean,  so  as  not  to  tear  or 
injure  the  permanent  tissues  ;  this  is  particularly 
noticeable  in  the  foliage  of  the  horse-chestnut,  and 
also  (in  spring)  in  the  common  aralia,  so  often 
grown  as  a  drawing-room  decoration. 


NO.    6. — THE   SHOOTS    IN   SPRING   BEGINNING   TO  SPROUT   AGAIN. 

No.  5  continues  the  same  series,  and  shows  us 
how  the  wrinter  shoots,  now  sunk  to  the  bottom, 
bore  a  hole  and  root  themselves  in  the  soft  mud 
by  their  sharp,  awl-like  ends ;  after  which  they 
prepare  to  undergo  their  sleepy  hibernation.  They 
are  now  essentially  detached  buds  or  cuttings, 


218  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

analogous  to  those  which  the  gardener  artificially 
lops  off  and  "  strikes  "  in  our  gardens.  Only,  the 
gardener's  cuttings  have  been  rudely  sliced  off 
with  a  knife,  after  the  crude  human  fashion,  while 
those  of  the  pond-weed  have  been  neatly  released 
without  injury  to  the  tissues,  the  separation  being 
performed  by  an  act  of  growth,  with  all  the  beauti- 
ful perfection  that  marks  nature's  handicraft. 

In  the  soft  slimy  mud,  the  shoots  of  the  curled 
pond-weed  lie  by  during  the  frozen  period,  hearing 
the  noise  of  the  gliding  skates  above  them,  and 
suffering  slightly  at  times  from  the  chill  of  the 
water,  but  actually  protected  by  the  great-coat  of 
ice  from  the  severest  effects  of  the  hard  weather. 
By-and-by,  when  spring  comes  again,  however,  the 
shoots  begin  to  bud  out,  as  you  see  in  No.  6,  and 
once  more  to  produce  the  original  type  of  pond- 
weed.  The  weed  then  continues  to  form  leaves 
and  stems,  and  finally  to  flower,  which  it  does 
with  a  head  or  spike  of  queer  little  green  blossoms, 
raised  unobtrusively  above  the  surface  of  the  water. 
They  are  not  pretty,  because  they  do  not  depend 
upon  animals  for  the  transference  of  their  pollen. 
I  could  tell  you  some  curious  things  about  these 
flowers,  too,  which  find  themselves  far  from  insects, 
and  destitute  of  attractive  petals ;  so  they  have 
taken  in  despair  to  a  quaint  method  of  fertilisation 
by  bombardment,  so  to  speak — the  stamens  open- 
ing in  calm  weather,  and  dropping  their  pollen 
out  on  the  saucer-like  petals,  whence  the  first  high 
wind  carries  it  off  with  a  burst  to  the  stigma  or 
sensitive  surface  of  the  sister  flowers.  But  that, 


A  FROZEN  WORLD  219 

though  enticing,  is  another  story,  alien  to  the 
philosophy  of  the  pond  in  winter.  I  will  only  add 
here  that  the  pond-weed  does  not  set  its  seeds  very 
well,  and  that  chances  of  dispersal  are  somewhat 
infrequent,  so  that  irregular  multiplication  by  these 
winter  shoots  has  largely  taken  the  place  with  it  of 
normal  multiplication  by  means  of  seedlings.  At 
the  same  time,  we  must  remember  that  no  prudent 
plant  can  venture  to  depend  for  ever  upon  such 
apparent  propagation  by  mere  subdivision,  which  is 
not  really  (in  any  true  sense)  propagation  at  all,  but 
is  merely  increased  area  of  growth  for  the  original 
parent,  split  up  into  many  divergent  personalities ; 
so  that  the  curled  pond-weed  takes  infinite  pains  all 
the  same  to  flower  when  it  can,  and  to  discharge 
its  pollen  and  disperse  its  seed  as  often  as  prac- 
ticable. Only  by  seedlings,  indeed  (that  is  to  say 
by  fresh  blood  —  truly  new  individuals),  can  the 
vigour  of  any  stock  be  permanently  secured. 

Sometimes,  again,  the  entire  plant  retires  to  the 
depths  in  winter,  like  the  pond-snail.  This  is  the 
case  with  that  pretty  floating  aquatic  lily,  the  water- 
soldier,  whose  lovely  flowers  make  it  a  frequent 
favourite  on  ornamental  waters.  In  summer  it 
floats  ;  but  when  winter  comes  it  sinks  to  the 
bottom,  and  there  rests  on  the  mud  till  spring 
returns  again. 

In  No.  7  you  see  how  another  familiar  and 
fascinating  denizen  of  the  pond,  the  little  whirligig^ 
beetle,  provides  his  winter  quarters.  The  whirligig 
is  one  of  the  daintiest  and  most  amusing  of  the 
inhabitants  of  our  ponds.  He  is  a  small  round 


22O  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

beetle,  in  shape  like  a  grain  of  corn  ;  but  as  he  is 
intended  to  sport  and  circle  on  the  surface  of  the 
water  in  the  broad  sunshine,  he  is  clad  in  glistening 
mail  of  iridescent  tints,  gorgeous  with  bronze  and 
gold,  to  charm  the  eyes  of  his  fastidious  partner. 
You  seldom  see  whirligigs  alone  ;  they  generally 
dart  about  in  companies  on  the  surface  of  some 
calm  little  haven  in  the  pond,  a  dozen  at  a  time, 
pirouetting  in  and  out  with  most  marvellous  gyra- 
tions, yet  never  colliding  or  interfering  with  one 
another.  I  have  often  watched  them  for  many 
minutes  together,  wondering  whether  they  would 
not  at  last  get  in  one  another's  way  :  but  no  ;  at 
each  apparent  meeting,  they  glide  off  in  graceful 
curves,  and  never  touch  or  graze.  They  go  on 
through  figures  more  complicated  than  the  Lancers 
or  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  now  advancing,  now 
retreating,  always  in  lines  of  sinuous  beauty,  with- 
out angularity  or  strain,  and  apparently  without 
premeditation  ;  yet  never  for  a  second  do  they 
interfere  with  a  neighbour's  mazy  dance,  often  as 
they  cross  and  recross  each  other's  merry  orbits. 
Dear  little  playful  things  they  seem,  as  if  they 
enjoyed  existence  like  young  lambs  or  children. 
Sociable,  alert,  for  ever  gambolling,  they  treat  life 
as  a  saraband,  but  with  a  wonderfully  keen  eye  for 
approaching  danger.  They  look  at  times  as  if  you 
could  catch  them  without  trouble  ;  yet  put  down 
your  hand,  and  off  they  dart  at  once  to  the  bottom, 
br  elude  you  by  a  quick  and  vigilant  side  move- 
ment, always  on  the  curve,  like  a  good  skater  or  a 
bicyclist. 


A  FROZEN  WORLD 


221 


This  rapid  skimming  in  curves  or  circles  on  the 
surface  of  the  water  is  produced  in  a  most  interest- 
ing way  by  the  co-operation  of  the  various  pairs 
of  legs,  which  I  can  best  explain  by  the  analogy  of 
the  bicycle.  The  two  shorter  and  active  hind-legs 
produce  the  quick  forward  dart,  just  as  the  main 


NO.    7.— THE   WHIRLIGIG   BEETLE   IN   SUMMER,    DANCING. 

motion  of  the  cycle  is  given  it  by  the  back  wheel ; 
the  longer  front  legs  act  like  the  front  wheel  of  the 
cycle  in  altering  the  direction  ;  one  of  them  is 
jerked  out  to  right  or  left,  rudderwise,  and  gives 
the  desired  amount  of  curve  to  the  resulting  motion 
according  to  the  will  and  necessities  of  the  insect. 


222  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

The  steering  of  a  Canadian  canoe  comes  very  near 
it.  Anybody  who  has  sculled  or  rowed,  indeed, 
knows  well  the  extraordinary  ease  with  which 
a  boat  can  be  shored  off  instantaneously  from 
another,  or  the  marvellous  way  in  which  gliding 
curves  can  be  produced  on  the  almost  unresisting 
surface  of  the  water.  The  whirligig  beetle  has  a 
perfect  steering  apparatus  in  his  long  and  ex- 
tensible fore-legs,  and  by  their  means  he  per- 
forms unceasingly  his  play  of  merry  and  intricate 
evolutions. 

When  whirligigs  are  alarmed,  however,  they  dive 
below  the  surface  as  one  of  a  pair  is  doing  in 
No.  7,  and  carry  down  with  them  a  large  bubble  of 
air,  for  breathing  purposes,  entangled  in  the  joints 
of  their  complicated  legs  and  the  under  parts  of 
their  bodies.  On  this  quaint  sublacustrine  balloon 
they  subsist  for  breathing  till  the  danger  is  past 
and  they  can  come  to  the  top  again. 

Early  in  April,  when  the  weather  is  fine,  you 
begin  to  see  the  whirligig  beetles  dancing  in  and 
out  in  companies,  like  so  many  water-fairies,  on 
the.  still  top  of  the  pond.  They  prefer  calm  water  ; 
when  the  wind  drives  little  ripples  to  the  eastern 
end  of  the  pool,  you  will  find  them  practising  their 
aquatic  gymnastics  under  lee  of  the  shore  on  the 
western  side  ;  when  an  east  wind  ruffles  the  western 
border,  you  will  find  them  gyrating  and  interlacing, 
coquetting  and  pirouetting,  by  the  calmer  eastern 
shallows.  As  they  move  in  their  whirls,  they  form 
little  transient  circles  on  the  water's  top,  which 
spread  concentrically  ;  and  the  mutual  interference 


A  FROZEN  WORLD  223 

of  these  widening  waves  is  almost  as  interesting  at 
times  as  the  astonishing  velocity  and  certainty  of 
movement  in  the  beetles  themselves.  So,  all  sum- 
mer long,  they  continue  their  wild  career,  seeming 
to  earn  their  livelihood  easily  by  amusing  them- 


NO.    8. — WHIRLIGIG   BEETLES    IN   WINTER,    SLEEPING. 

selves.  But  as  soon  as  winter  approaches,  a  change 
comes  o'er  the  spirit  of  their  dream.  They  retire 
to  the  depths,  as  you  may  observe  in  No.  8,  and 
bury  themselves  in  the  mud  while  the  pond  is 
frozen  over.  During  this  period  they  indulge  in 
a  good  long  nap  of  some  five  or  six  months,  and, 


224  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

awaking  refreshed  in  April,  come  to  the  surface  once 
more,  where  they  begin  their  gyratory  antics  all  over 
again,  da  capo.  It  is  a  merry  life  ;  and  though 
the  whirligig  can  fly,  which  he  does  occasionally, 
'tis  no  wonder  he  prefers  his  skimming  existence 
on  the  still  glassy  sheet  of  his  native  waters. 

The  two  larger  British  water-beetles,  which  are 
such  favourite  objects  in  the  aquariums  of  young 
naturalists,  do  not  lead  quite  so  exclusively  aquatic 
a  life  ;  they  pass  their  youth  as  larvae  in  the  pond, 
and  they  return  to  it  in  their  full-winged  or  beetle 
stage,  being  most  expert  divers ;  but  they  both 
retire  to  dry  land  to  undergo  their  metamorphosis 
into  a  chrysalis,  and  they  spend  their  time  in  the 
pupa-case  in  a  hollow  in  the  ground.  Something 
similar  occurs  with  many  other  aquatic  animals, 
which  are  thus  conjectured  to  be  the  descendants 
of  terrestrial  ancestors,  whom  the  struggle  for  life 
has  forced  to  embrace  the  easier  opening  afforded 
by  the  waters. 

In  this  respect,  that  rather  rare  and  beautiful 
little  water-plant,  the  frogbit,  shown  in  No.  9, 
has  a  life-history  not  unlike  the  career  of  the 
water-beetles.  It  is  a  quaint  and  pretty  herb, 
which  never  roots  itself  in  the  mud,  like  the  curled 
pond-weed,  but  floats  freely  about  on  the  surface, 
allowing  its  long  roots  to  hang  down  like  streamers 
into  the  water  beneath  it.  The  short  stem  or  stock 
is  submerged  ;  the  leaves  expand  themselves  freely 
and  loll  on  the  surface.  Like  most  other  floating 
water-leaves  which  thus  support  themselves  on  the 
top  of  the  water,  they  are  almost  circular  in  form 


A  FROZEN  WORLD 


225 


— a  type  familiar  to  all  of  us  in  the  white  and 
yellow  water-lily,  and  also  in  the  beautiful  little 
fringed  limnanthemum.  The  reason  why  floating 


N0.   9. — THE   FROGBIT   IN   SUMMER,    FLOWERING. 


leaves  assume  this  circular  shape  is  easy  to  per- 
ceive ;  they  need  no  stout  stalk  to  support  them, 
like  aerial  foliage,  the  water  serving  to  float  them  on 
its  surface  ;  and  as  they  find  the  whole  surrounding 

P 


226  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

space  free  from  competition,  with  no  other  plants 
to  interfere  with  them,  as  in  the  crowded  meadows 
and  hedgerows  of  the  land,  they  spread  freely  in 
the  sunshine  on  every  side,  drinking  in  from  the 
air  the  carbonic  acid  which  is  the  chief  food  of 
plants.  In  short,  the  round  shape  is  that  which 
foliage  naturally  assumes  when  there  is  no  com- 
petition, no  architectural  or  engineering  difficulty, 
plenty  of  food  and  plenty  of  sunshine. 

The  frogbit  as  a  whole,  then,  is  not  submerged 
like  the  curled  pond-weed  ;  it  floats,  not  rooted, 
but  free.  Yet  when  it  comes  to  flowering,  it  has 
to  quit  the  water,  just  like  the  great  water-beetles, 
and  emerge  upon  the  open  air  above,  so  as  to 
expose  its  flowers  to  the  fertilising  insects.  These 
flowers  are  extremely  delicate  and  beautiful,  with 
three  papery  white  petals,  and  a  yellow  centre  ; 
they  make  the  plant  a  real  ornament  to  all  the 
ponds  where  it  fixes  its  residence.  The  males  and 
females  grow  on  separate  plants,  and  aquatic  flies 
act  as  their  ambassadors.  Such  is  the  summer  life 
of  the  frogbit,  while  fair  weather  lasts  ;  but,  like 
all  other  pond  denizens,  it  has  to  reckon  in  the 
end  with  the  frozen  season. 

It  does  so  in  a  way  slightly  different  from,  though 
analogous  to,  that  of  the  curled  pond-weed.  No.  10 
shows  you  the  frogbit  after  the  flowering  season  is 
over,  when  it  begins  to  anticipate  the  approach  of 
winter.  It  then  sends  out  slender  runners,  like 
those  of  the  strawberry  vine,  on  the  end  of  each  of 
which  is  formed  a  winter  bud,  which  answers  to 
the  winter  shoots  of  the  curled  pond-weed.  By- 


A  FROZEN  WORLD 


227 


and-by  the  pond  will  freeze,  and  the  floating  leaves 
of  the  frogbit  will  be  frozen  and  killed  with  it. 
But  the  prudent  plant  provides  for  its  own  survival 


NO.     IO. — THE    FROGBIT   DETACHING    ITS   WINTER    BUDS, 
WHICH    SINK   TO   THE    BOTTOM. 


in  the  person  of  its  offshoots,  which  are  not  its 
young,  but  integral  parts  of  its  own  individuality. 
It  fills  them  with  starch  and  other  rich  foodstuffs 


228  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

for  growth  next  season.  About  the  time  when  the 
pond  grows  cool,  the  buds  detach  themselves,  like 
the  winter  shoots  of  the  pond-weed,  and  slowly 
descend  by  their  own  weight  to  the  bottom.  But 
they  do  not  root  themselves  there,  as  the  pond-weed 
shoots  did  ;  they  merely  lie  by,  like  the  whirligig 
beetles,  as  you  can  see  one  of  them  preparing  to 
do  in  the  left-hand  corner  of  No.  10.  All  the 
living  material  is  drained  from  the  leaves  into 
these  winter  bulbs.  The  pond  freezes  over,  and 
the  remnant  of  the  floating  leaves  decay ;  but  the 
bulbs  lurk  quietly  in  the  warm  mud  of  the  bottom, 
protected  by  a  covering  of  close-fitting  scale- 
leaves. 

In  No.  1 1  we  learn  the  end  of  this  quaint  little 
domestic  drama.  Spring  has  come,  and  the  pond 
has  thawed  again.  The  winter  buds  of  the  frogbit 
now  undergo  certain  spongy  internal  changes,  due 
to  warmth  and  growth,  which  make  them  lighter 
— lessen  their  specific  gravity.  Air-cells  are  deve- 
loped in  them.  So  they  begin  to  rise  again  like 
bubbles  to  the  surface.  You  can  see  in  the  illus- 
tration one  bud  still  entangled  in  the  slime  on  the 
bottom ;  another  just  starting  to  emerge  ;  a  third 
rising  ;  and  a  fourth  and  fifth  on  the  surface  of 
the  pool.  Two  more  have  already  risen  ;  one  of 
these  is  just  putting  forth  its  first  few  kidney-shaped 
leaves  ;  another  has  now  grown  pretty  strong,  and 
is  sending  out  a  runner,  from  which  a  third  little 
plant  is  even  beginning  to  develop.  In  time,  hun- 
dreds of  such  runners  are  sent  forth  in  every 
direction,  till  the  surface  of  the  pond,  in  suitable 


A  FROZEN  WORLD 


229 


places,  is  covered  with  a  network  of  tangled  and 
interlacing  frogbits.  They  always  seem  to  me  in 
this  way  the  plant-counterparts  of  the  whirligig 
beetles  ;  and  it  is  because  of  this  queer  analogy 
in  their  mode  of  life  that  I  have  figured  the  two 
here  in  such  close  connection. 


NO.    II. — THE   BUDS   RISING  AGAIN    IN   SPRING,   AND   SPROUTING 
INTO  A   NETWORK. 


Indeed,  I  hope  I  have  now  begun  to  make  it 
clear  to  you  that  the  difference  of  habit  between 
plants  and  animals  is  not  nearly  so  vast  as  most 
people  imagine.  It  is  usual  to  think  of  plants  as 
merely  passively  existing.  I  have  tried,  here  and 


230  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

elsewhere,  to  lay  stress  rather  upon  the  moments 
in  life  when  plants  are  doing  something,  and  thus 
to  suggest  to  my  readers  the  close  resemblance 
which  really  exists  between  their  activities  and 
those  of  animals.  The  more  you  watch  plants, 
the  more  will  you  find  how  much  this  is  true. 
And  in  a  case  like  that  of  a  pond  frozen  in  winter, 
where  both  groups  have  to  meet  and  face  the 
self-same  difficulty,  it  is  odd  to  note  how  exactly 
similar  are  the  various  devices  by  which  either 
group  has  succeeded  in  surmounting  it. 

When  you  skate  carelessly  over  the  frozen  pond 
in  winter,  you  never  perhaps  reflect  upon  all  the 
wealth  of  varied  life  that  lies  asleep  beneath  your 
feet.  But  it  is  there  in  abundance.  The  smaller 
newt,  to  be  sure,  has  gone  ashore  to  hibernate  :  but 
his  great  crested  brother  lurks  somnolent  in  the 
mud,  like  a  torpid  bear  or  a  sleeping  dormouse. 
Frogs  huddle  buried  in  close  packed  groups  at  the 
centre,  massed  together  in  the  soft  ooze  for  warmth 
and  company.  Many  kinds  of  aquatic  snails 
slumber  peaceably  hard  by,  with  various  beetles 
beside  the  whirligigs.  As  for  eggs  and  spawn  and 
larvce  or  pupae,  as  well  as  petty  crustaceans,  you 
could  count  them  by  the  dozen.  Seeds  are  there, 
too,  and  buried  plants  of  water-crowfoot,  and 
winter  shoots  and  winter  buds,  and  a  whole  world 
of  skulkers.  The  pond  seems  dead,  if  you  look 
only  at  its  hard  and  frozen  top  ;  but  in  its  depths 
it  encloses  for  kind  after  kind  the  manifold  hope  of 
a  glorious  resurrection.  Let  May  but  come  back 
with  a  few  genial  suns,  and  forthwith,  the  water- 


A  FROZEN  WORLD  231 

crowfoot  spreads  its  white  sheet  of  tender  bloom  ; 
the  whirligig  dances  anew  ;  the  newts  acquire  their 
red  and  orange  spots  and  their  decorative  crests  ; 
strange  long-legged  creatures  stalk  on  stilts  over 
the  glass  of  the  calm  bays,  and  tadpoles  swarm 
black  and  fat  in  the  basking  shallows.  The  pond, 
it  seems,  was  not  dead  but  sleeping.  Spring 
sounds  its  clarion  note,  and  all  nature  is  alive 
again. 


X 

BRITISH    BLOODSUCKERS 

I  WRITE  this  title  with  peculiar  pleasure,  be- 
cause it  is  so  nice  to  be  able  for  once  to  apply 
it  literally.  With  its  figurative  use  I  am  already 
too  familiar.  In  some  tropical  countries  the  free- 
born  Britons  who  are  sent  out  in  the  Govern- 
ment employment  to  protect  the  natives  or  the 
coolies  or  the  negroes,  as  the  case  may  be,  from 
their  aggressive  brethren,  are  commonly  known  to 
their  planter  neighbours  as  "  British  bloodsuckers  " 
— apparently  because,  like  most  other  members  of 
Civil  Services  elsewhere  (except  the  Turkish),  they 
get  paid  for  their  services.  This  use  of  the  phrase 
is  so  well  known  to  me,  even  as  applied  to  myself, 
that  I  rejoice  in  being  able  to  employ  it  here,  with- 
out political  prejudice  of  any  sort,  with  reference 
to  the  habits  of  the  mosquito  and  the  horse-fly. 
Nobody,  I  suppose,  is  interested  to  deny  that  mos- 
quitoes and  horse-flies  do  suck  blood  ;  nobody  feels 
the  faintest  sympathy  for  the  misdeeds  of  those 
sanguinary  and  unpleasant  creatures.  Now,  it  is 
always  delightful  to  find  a  lawful  outlet  for  our 
evil  passions  :  all  the  world  turns  out  to  hunt  a 

mad  dog.     I  love  to  flick  the  heads  off  tall  thistles 

233 


BRITISH  BLOODSUCKERS  233 

with  my  stick  as  I  pass,  and  salve  my  scruples  with 
the  thought  that  they  are  the  deadly  enemies  of 
the  agricultural  interest.  If  there  were  no  thistles, 
there  would  be  nothing  in  the  shape  of  a  large 
and  conspicuous  flower  whose  head  one  could 
knock  off  with  a  clear  conscience. 

But  at  the  very  outset,  I  foresee  a  destruc- 
tive criticism.  "  The  mosquito,"  you  will  say,  "  is 
not  a  British  bloodsucker."  Pardon  me  ;  there, 
you  labour  under  a  misapprehension.  Everybody 
knows  that  there  are  gnats  in  England.  Well,  a 
gnat  is  a  mosquito  and  a  mosquito  is  a  gnat.  Like 
our  old  friend,  Colonel  Clay,  they  are  the  same 
gentleman  under  two  different  aliases.  Or,  rather, 
since  it  is  only  the  female  insect  that  bites,  and 
only  the  bite  that  much  concerns  humanity,  I  ought 
perhaps  to  say  the  same  lady.  The  difference  of 
name  is  a  mere  question  of  nomenclature,  and  also 
(as  with  many  other  aliases)  a  question  of  where 
we  happen  to  meet  them.  When  a  mosquito  is 
seen  in  England,  he  or  she  is  called  a  gnat ;  when 
a  gnat  is  seen  in  Italy  or  Egypt,  he  or  she  is 
called  a  mosquito.  But,  as  this  is  a  fundamental 
point  to  our  subject,  I  think  we  had  better  clear  it 
up  once  for  all  before  we  go  any  farther.  It  is 
not  much  use  talking  about  mosquitoes  unless  we 
really  decide  what  particular  creature  it  is  that  we 
are  talking  about. 

There  is  not  one  kind  of  gnat,  or  one  kind  of 
mosquito,  but  several  kinds  of  them ;  and  both 
names  are  loosely  applied  in  conversation  to  cover 
a  large  variety  of  related  small  flies,  almost  all  of 


234  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

them  members  of  the  genus  Culex.  The  one  point 
of  similarity  between  the  whole  lot  lies  in  the  fact 
that  they  all  suck  blood  ;  whenever  a  blood-sucking 
culex  is  lighted  upon  in  England  it  is  called  a 
gnat  ;  while  whenever  one  is  found  in  any  other 
part  of  Europe,  Asia,  Africa,  or  America,  we  say 
it  is  a  mosquito.  That  is  just  a  piece  of  the  well- 
known  British  arrogance  ;  they  will  not  admit  that 
there  are  such  venomous  beasts  as  mosquitoes  in 
England,  and  therefore,  when  found,  they  call 
them  by  another  name,  and  fancy  they  have  got 
rid  of  them.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  mosquitoes  of 
one  sort  or  another  occur  in  most  countries,  if  not 
in  all  the  world  ;  they  are  most  numerous,  it  is 
true,  in  the  tropics  and  in  warm  districts  gene- 
rally ;  but  they  also  abound  in  Canada,  Siberia, 
Russia,  and  Lapland.  Even  in  the  Arctic  regions, 
they  come  out  in  swarms  during  the  short  summer  ; 
and  wherever  ponds  or  stagnant  waters  abound  in 
Finland  or  Alaska,  they  bite  quite  as  successfully 
and  industriously  while  they  last  as  in  Ceylon  or 
Jamaica.  At  least  a  hundred  and  fifty  kinds  are 
"  known  to  science,"  and  of  these,  no  fewer  than 
thirty-five  occur  in  Europe.  There  are  nine  in 
Britain.  '  Most  of  the  European  species  bite  quite 
hard  enough  to  be  popularly  ranked  as  mosquitoes  ; 
the  remainder  are  called  by  the  general  and  in- 
definite name  of  flies— a  vague  term  which  covers 
as  large  an  acreage  of  evil  as  charity. 

In  hot  summers,  you  will  often  read  in  the 
papers  a  loud  complaint  that  "  mosquitoes  have 
made  their  appearance  in  England,"  most  often  in 


BRITISH  BLOODSUCKERS  235 

the  neighbourhood  of  the  London  docks  ;  and  this 
supposed  importation  of  venomous  foreign  insects 
is  usually  set  down  to  the  arrival  of  some  steamer 
from  Bombay  or  New  Orleans.  The  papers  might 
almost  as  well  chronicle  the  "  arrival "  of  the  cock- 
roach or  of  the  common  house-fly.  There  are 
always  mosquitoes  in  England ;  and  they  bite  worse 
in  very  hot  weather.  Occasionally,  no  doubt, 
some  stray  Mediterranean  or  American  gnat,  rather 
hungrier  than  usual,  does  cross  over  in  water  in 
the  larval  form  and  effect  a  lodgment  in  London 
for  a  Week  or  two  ;  but  only  a  skilled  entomologist 
could  distinguish  him  from  a  native,  after  careful 
examination.  Let  it  be  granted  then,  as  Euclid 
says,  that  there  is  no  essential  difference  between 
a  gnat  and  a  mosquito,  and  let  us  admit  that  the 
same  name  is  applied  in  both  cases  to  a  large 
variety  of  distinct  but  closely  related  species. 
After  which  preliminary  clearing  of  the  ground, 
we  will  proceed  quietly  to  the  detailed  description 
of  one  such  typical  bloodsucker. 

In  justice  to  India,  however,  I  ought  perhaps  to 
add  that  the  particular  mosquito  chosen  for  illus- 
tration by  Mr.  Enock  is  not  itself  a  native  Briton, 
but  an  inhabitant  of  India.  It  is  thus  only  British 
in  the  wider  sense  of  being  a  denizen  of  her 
Majesty's  dominions,  on  which  the  sun  never  sets, 
and  the  buzz  of  the  mosquito  never  ceases.  On 
the  other  hand,  it  differs  so  slightly  from  the 
commonest  English  gnat  that  nobody  but  a  trained 
entomologist  could  ever  detect  the  difference ;  and 
even  he  could  only  discover  it  in  the  adult  insect 


236  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

by  minute  variations  in  the  antennae  and  other 
almost  microscopic  peculiarities.  Indeed,  if  I 
hadn't  told  you  this  was  an  Indian  mosquito, 
you  would  never  have  discovered  that  it  wasn't 
a  Fenland  gnat. 

The  mosquito  is  in  a  certain  sense  an  amphi- 
bious animal ;  that  is  to  say,  during  the  course  of 
its  life,  it  has  tried  both  land  and  water.  It  begins 
existence  as  an  aquatic  creature,  and  only  steps 


NO.  i. — MOSQUITO'S  EGG-RAFT,  SEEN  SIDEWAYS. 

ashore  at  last  to  fly  in  the  open  air  when  it  has 
arrived  at  its  adult  form  and  days  of  discretion. 
The  mother  mosquito,  flitting  in  a  cloud-like  swarm 
of  her  kind,  haunts  for  the  most  part  moist  and 
watery  spots  in  thick  woods  or  marshes,  and  lays 
her  tiny  eggs  on  the  surface  of  some  pool  or  stag- 
nant water.  They  are  deposited  one  by  one,  and 
then  glued  together  with  a  glutinous  secretion  into 
a  little  raft  or  boat,  shown  in  No.  i,  which  floats 
about  freely  on  the  pond  or  puddle.  It  looks  just 


BRITISH  BLOODSUCKERS  237 

like  the  conventional  representations  of  the  "  ark 
of  bulrushes  "  provided  for  the  infant  Moses.  An 
industrious  mother  will  lay  some  two  or  three 
hundred  such  eggs  in  a  season,  so  that  we  need 
not  wonder  at  the  great  columns  of  mosquitoes- that 
often  appear  in  damp  places  in  summer.  No.  2 
shows  the  same  raft  seen  from  above,  and  ex- 


NO.    2. — THE   MOSQUITO'S   EGG-RAFT,    SEEN   FROM   ABOVE. 

cellently  illustrates   its  admirable   boat-shaped   or 
saucer-shaped  construction. 

After  about  three  days'  time,  the  eggs  begin  to 
hatch,  and  the  active  little  larvae  escape,  wriggling, 
into  the  water.  No.  3,  which  is  enlarged  forty 
diameters,  exhibits  the  stages  of  the  hatching  pro- 
cess. A  sort  of  lid  or  door  at  the  lower  end  of  the 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

floating  egg  opens  downward  into  the  water,  and 
the  young  mosquito  slides  off  with  a  jerk  of  the 
tail  into  its  native  marshes.  Almost  everybody 
who  has  travelled  in  Asia,  Africa,  or  America,  must 
be  familiar  with  these  little  brown  darting  larvae, 


NO.  3. — THE   EGGS   HATCHING,   AND  YOUNG   MOSQUITOES  ESCAPING. 


which  occur  abundantly  in  the  soft  water  in  jugs 
and  wash-hand  basins.  Brown,  I  say  roughly, 
because  they  look  so  at  a  casual  glance  ;  but  if 
you  examine  them  more  closely  you  will  see  that 
they  are  rather  delicately  green,  and  often  mottled. 
It  is  not  easy  to  catch  them,  however,  so  quickly 


BRITISH  BLOODSUCKERS 


239 


m 


do  they  wriggle  ;  you  try  to  put  your  hand  on 
them,  and  they  slip  through  your  fingers  ;  you 
have  caught  one  __5fc==_=====_=_===__==_ 
now,  and,  hi 
presto  !  before 
you  know  it,  he 
is  twirling  off  to 
the  other  side 
and  disporting 
himself  gaily  in 
aquatic  gambols. 
Nevertheless, 
he  is  a  crea- 
ture well  worth 
observing,  this 
larva.  Get 

him  still  under 
the  microscope 
(which  is  no 
easy  matter — 
to  insure  it,  you 
must  supply  him 
with  only  the 
tiniest  possible 
drop  of  water) 
and  you  will  then 
perceive  that  he 
has  a  distinct 
head,  with  two 
large  dark  eyes, 

and  that  behind  it  comes  a  globular  body,  and  then 
a  tail  of  several  quickly-moving  segments.     No.  4 


NO. 


4. — THE  MOSQUITO -LARVA  IN  HIS 
FAVOURITE  ACT  OF  STANDING  ON  HIS 
HEAD  AND  BREATHING. 


240  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

is  a  portrait  of  the  larva  in  his  full-grown  stage, 
near  the  surface  of  the  water.  He  is  about 
half  an  inch  long,  and  nimble  as  a  squirrel.  You 
will  observe  on  his  head  a  sort  of  big  moustache, 
set  with  several  smaller  bristles.  This  moustache 
(which  consists  for  science  of  a  pair  of  mandibles) 
is  kept  always  in  constant  and  rapid  motion  ;  its 
use  is  to  create  an  eddy  or  continuous  current 
of  water ;  which  brings  very  tiny  animals  and 
other  objects  of  food  within  reach  of  the  voracious 
larva's  mouth  ;  for  young  or  old,  your  mosquito 
is  invariably  a  hungry  subject.  In  point  of  fact, 
you  may  say  that  these  hairy  organs  are  the 
equivalents  of  hands  with  which  the  larva  feeds 
himself.  They  vibrate  ceaselessly. 

At  the  opposite  end  of  the  body,  you  will 
observe,  there  are  two  other  organs,  both  equally 
interesting.  One  of  them,  which  goes  straight 
up  to  the  surface  of  the  water,  and  protrudes 
above  it,  is  the  larva's  breathing-tube  ;  for  the 
mosquito  breathes,  at  this  stage,  not  with  his  head 
but  with  his  tail ;  this  ingenious  mechanism  I 
will  explain  further  presently.  The  other  organ, 
which  in  the  illustration  (No.  4)  goes  off  to  the 
left,  and  has  four  loose  ends  visible,  serves  its 
owner  as  a  fin  and  rudder.  It  is  the  chief  organ 
of  locomotion — the  oar  or  screw  by  whose  means 
the  larva  darts  with  lightning  speed  through  the 
water,  and  alters  his  direction  with  such  startling 
rapidity.  You  will  note  that  it  is  not  unlike  the 
screw  of  a  steamer,  and  it  answers  for  the  animal 
the  same  general  purpose.  How  effectual  it  is 


BRITISH  BLOODSUCKERS 


241 


as  a  locomotive  device  everybody  knows  who  has 
once  tried  chivvying  a  few  healthy  mosquito  larvae 
round  the  brimming  sea  of  his  bedroom  basin. 

The  breathing  -  tube  deserves  a  little  longer 
notice.  By  its  means  air  is  conveyed  direct  into 
the  internal  air-channels  of  the  insect,  which  do 
not  form  lungs, 
but  ramify  like 
arteries  all  over 
the  body.  We 
carry  our  blood 
to  the  lungs  to 
be  aerated  ;  the 
insects  carry  the 
oxygen  to  the 
blood.  To  take  in 
air,  the  larva  fre- 
quently rises  to 
near  the  surface, 
as  you  see  him 
doing  in  No.  4  ; 
then  he  stands  on 
his  head,  cocks  up 
his  tail,  and  pushes 
out  his  air-tube. 

Indeed,  when  at  rest  this  is  his  usual  attitude. 
No.  5,  which,  of  course,  is  very  highly  magnified, 
shows  his  tail  in  the  act  of  taking  in  a  good  gulp 
of  oxygen.  The  little  valves,  or  doors,  which 
cover  the  air-tube  are  here  opened  radially,  and 
the  larva  is  breathing.  To  the  right  you  see  the 
position  of  the  tube  after  he  has  taken  in  a  long 

Q 


NO.  5.— THE  LARVA'S  BREATHING-TUBE, 
CLOSED  AND  OPEN. 


242  FLASHLIGHTS  ON.  NATURE 

draught  of  air  (just  like  a  whale  or  a  porpoise)  and 
is  darting  to  the  depths  again.  The  tiny  valves 
or  doors  are  now  closed,  so  that  no  water  can  get 
in  ;  the  larva  will  go  .on  upon  the  air  thus  stored 
till  all  of  it  is  exhausted  ;  he  will  then  rise  once 
more  to  the  surface,  let  out  the  breath  loaded 
with  carbonic  acid,  and  draw  in  a  fresh  stock 
again  for  future  use. 


NO.    6. — THE   PUPA   OR   CHRYSALIS,    BREATHING   THROUGH 
TWO   HORN-LIKE   TUBES 


The  young  mosquito  remains  in  the  larval  form 
for  about  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks,  during  the 
course  of  which  time  he  moults  thrice.  As  soon 
as  he  is  full-grown,  he  becomes  a  pupa  or  chry- 
salis— lies  by,  so  to  speak,  while  he  is  changing 
into  the  winged  condition.  No.  6  is  a  faithful 
portrait  of  the  mosquito  in  this  age  of  transition. 
(I  borrow  the  last  phrase  from  the  journalists.) 


BRITISH  BLOODSUCKERS  243 

Within  the  pupa-case,  which  is  smaller  than  the 
larva,  the  insect  is  bent  double ;  in  this  apparently 
uncomfortable  position,  it  begins  to  develop  the 
wings,  the  legs,  and  the  blood-sucking  apparatus 
of  the  perfect  mosquito.  Nevertheless,  ill-adapted 
as  such  a  shape  might  seem  for  locomotion — with 
one's  head  tucked  under,  and  one's  eyes  looking 
downward — the  mosquito  in  the  pupa  continues 
to  move  about  freely,  instead  of  taking  life  mean- 
while in  the  spirit  of  a  mummy  in  the  mummy- 
case.  By  way  of  change,  however,  he  now  eats 
nothing — having,  in  fact,  no  mouth  to  eat  with. 
But  the  most  \vonderful  thing  of  all  is  the  altera- 
tion in  his  method  of  breathing.  The  pupa  no 
longer  breathes  with  its  tail,  but  with  the  front 
part  of  its  body,  where  two  little  horn -shaped 
tubes  are  developed  for  the  purpose.  You  can 
see  them  in  the  illustration  (No.  6),  which  is 
taken  at  the  moment  when  the  active  and  loco- 
motive pupa  has  just  come  to  the  surface  to 
breathe,  and  is  floating,  back  up,  and  head 
doubled  under  downward,  in  a  most  constrained 
position.  The  attitude  reminds  one  of  nothing 
so  much  as  that  of  a  bull,  with  his  head  be- 
tween his  legs,  rushing  forward  to  attack  one. 
You  can  see  through  the  pupa-case  the  great  dark 
eyes  and  the  rudiments  of  the  legs  as  they  form 
below  it. 

No.  7  exhibits  very  prettily  the  next  stage  in 
this  short  eventful  history — the  emergence  of  a 
female  mosquito  from  her  dressing-gown  or  pupa- 
case.  She  looks  like  a  lady  coming  out  of  her 


244 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


ball-dress.  As  the  pupa  grows  older,  the  skin 
or  case  stands  off  of  itself  from  the  animal  within, 
by  a  sort  of  strange  internal  shrinkage,  and  a 
layer  of  air  is  thus  formed  between  case  and 


NO.    7. — THE   FEMALE    MOSQUITO   ABANDONING   HER   PUPA   CASE. 

occupant.  This  causes  the  whole  apparatus  to 
float  to  the  surface,  and  enables  the  winged  fly 
to  make  an  effective  exit.  The  new  mosquito, 
looking  still  very  hump -backed,  and  distinctly 
crouching,  breaks  through  the  top  of  the  pupa- 


BRITISH  BLOODSUCKERS  245 

case  (which  opens  by  a  slit),  raises  herself  feebly 
and  awkwardly  on  her  spindle  shanks,  and  with- 
draws her  tail  from  its  swathing  bandage.  She 
has  grown  meanwhile  into  a  very  different  creature 
from  the  aquatic  larva  :  observe  her  long  plumed 
antennae,  her  curious  mouth-organs,  her  six  hairy 
legs,  and  her  delicate  gauze-like  wings,  all  of  them 
wholly  distinct  from  her  former  self,  and  utterly 
unrepresented  by  anything  in  the  swimming  in- 
sect. It  is  a  marvellous  transformation  this,  from 
a  darting  aquatic  with  rudder  and  tail,  to  a  flying 
terrestrial  and  aerial  animal,  with  legs  and  wings 
and  manifold  adapted  appendages.  At  first,  one 
would  say,  the  new-fledged  mosquito  can  hardly 
know  herself. 

In  nature,  however,  nothing  is  ever  wasted. 
The  pupa-case,  you  would  suppose,  is  now  quite 
useless.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Our  lady  utilises  it  at  once 
as  a  boat  to  float  upon.  She  plants  her  long  legs 
upon  it  gingerly,  as  you  see  in  No.  8,  where  you 
can  still  make  out  the  shape  of  the  tail  and  the  horn- 
like breathing-tubes  of  the  pupa.  Thus  does  she 
rise  on  stepping-stones  of  her  dead  self  to  higher 
things,  in  a  more  literal  sense  than  the  poet  con- 
templated. You  observe  her  above,  in  her  natural 
size,  and  below  much  magnified.  Notice  her  beau- 
tiful gauzy  wings,  marked  with  hairy  veins,  her 
pretty  plume-like  antennae,  her  spider-like  jointed 
legs,  and  her  hump  of  a  body.  She  stands  now, 
irresolute,  meditating  flight  and  wondering  whether 
she  dare  unfold  her  light  pinions  to  the  breeze. 
Soon,  confidence  and  strength  will  come  to  her ; 


246 


FLASHLIGHTS  ox  NATURE 


she  will  plim  them  on  the  summer  air,  and  float 
away  carelessly,  seeking  whom  she  may  devour. 


All  this  is  what  happens  to  a  successful  insect 
But  often  the  boat  fails;  the  young  wings  get 
wetted ;  the  mosquito  cannot  spread  them  ;  and 


BRITISH  BLOODSUCKERS 


247 


B. 


so  she  is  drow7ned  in  the  very  element  which  till 

now  was  the  only 

place   where    she 

could  support  ex- 

istence.  B§*f         A. 

And  here  I  must 
say  a  word  in 
favour  of  the  male 
as  against  the 
female  mosquito. 
In  most  species, 
and  certainly  in 
the  commonest 
British  gnat,  the 
male  fly  never 
sucks  blood  at 
all,  but  passes 
an  idyllic  vege- 
tarian existence, 
which  might  ex- 
cite the  warmest 
praise  from  Mr. 
Bernard  Shaw,  in 
sipping  the  harm- 
less nectar  of 
flowers.  He  has, 
in  point  of  fact, 
no  weapon  to 
attack  us  with. 
He  is  an  unarmed 
honey  -  sucker. 
But  the  female  is  very  differently  minded — a  Mes- 


NO.  9. — HEADS  OF  MOSQUITOES  ;  A,  THE 
WHISKERED  MALE  ;  B,  THE  BLOOD- 
SUCKING FEMALE,  WITH  LANCETS 
EXPOSED  ;  C,  THE  FEMALE,  BITING 
A  HUMAN  HAND. 


248  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

salina  or  a  Brinvilliers,  incongruously  wedded  to  a 
vegetarian  innocent.  Even  the  very  forms  of  the 
head  and  its  appendages  are  quite  different  in  the 
two  sexes  in  adaptation  to  these  marked  differences 
of  habit.  No.  9  shows  us  the  varieties  of  form  in 
the  male  and  female  at  a  glance.  Above  (in  Fig. 
A)  we  have  the  harmless  vegetarian  male.  Observe 
his  innocent  sucking  mouth,  his  bushy  beard,  his 
lack  of  sting,  his  obvious  air  of  general  respecta- 
bility. He  might  pass  for  a  pure  and  blameless 
ratepayer.  But  I  must  be  more  definitely  scientific, 
perhaps,  and  add  in  clearer  language  that  what  I 
call  his  beard  is  really  the  antennae.  These  con- 
sist of  fourteen  joints  each,  fitted  with  delicate 
circlets  of  hair  ;  and  the  hairs  in  the  male  are  so 
long  and  tufted  as  to  give  him  in  this  matter  a 
feathery  and  military  appearance,  wholly  alien  to 
his  real  mildness  of  nature.  Look  close  at  his 
head  and  you  will  find  it  is  provided  with  three 
sets  of  organs — first,  the  tufted  antennas  ;  second,  a 
single  sucking  proboscis,  adapted  for  quiet  flower- 
hunting  and  nectar-eating  ;  third,  a  pair  of  long 
palps,  one  on  each  side  of  the  proboscis. 

Now,  beneath  him,  marked  B,  we  get  the  head 
of  his  faithful  spouse,  the  abandoned  blood-suck- 
ing mosquito,  which  looks  at  first  sight,  I  confess, 
much  more  simple  and  harmless.  Its  antennae 
have  shorter  and  less  bristling  hairs  ;  its  proboscis 
seems  quiet  enough  ;  and  its  palps  are  reduced  to 
two  mere  horns  or  knobs,  not  a  quarter  the  length 
of  the  bristly  husband's,  on  each  side  of  the  pro- 
boscis. But  notice  in  front  of  all  that  she  has 


UNIVERSITY 

OF 


BRITISH  BLOODSUCKERS  249 

five  long  lancets,  guarded  by  an  upper  lip,  which 
do  not  answer  to  anything  at  all  in  her  husband's 
economy.  Those  five  lancets,  with  their  serrated 
points,  are  the  awls  or  piercers  with  which  she 
penetrates  the  skin  of  men  or  cattle.  They  cor- 
respond to  the  mandibles,  maxillae,  and  tongue, 
which  I  shall  explain  hereafter  in  the  mouth  of 
the  gadfly.  How  they  work  you  can  observe  in 
the  lowest  figure,  C.  Here  you  have  a  bit  of  the 
hand  of  a  human  subject — not  to  put  too  fine 
a  point  upon  it  (which  is  the  besetting  sin  of 
mosquitoes),  the  artist's.  He  has  delivered  him- 
self up  to  be  experimented  on  in  the  interests 
of  science.  The  sharp  lancets  have  been  driven 
through  the  skin  into  the  soft  tissue  beneath,  and 
the  bent  proboscis  is  now  engaged  in  sucking  up 
the  blood  that  oozes  from  it.  If  that  were  all,  it 
would  be  bad  enough  ;  but  not  content  with  that, 
the  mosquito,  for  some  mysterious  reason,  also 
injects  a  drop  of  some  irritant  fluid.  I  have  never 
been  able  to  see  that  this  proceeding  does  her  any 
good,  but  it  is  irritating  to  us  ;  and  that,  perhaps, 
is  quite  sufficient  for  the  ill-tempered  mosquito. 

Owing  to  the  habits  of  the  larva,  mosquitoes  are 
of  course  exceptionally  abundant  in  marshy  places. 
They  were  formerly  common  in  the  Fen  district  of 
England,  but  the  draining  of  the  fens  has  now 
almost  got  rid  of  them,  as  it  has  also  of  the  fever- 
and-ague  microbe. 

As  a  rule,  mosquitoes  are  nocturnal  animals, 
though  in  dark  woods,  and  also  in  very  swampy 
districts,  they  often  bite  quite  as  badly  through  the 


250  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

daytime  as  at  night.  But  when  evening  falls,  and 
all  else  is  still,  then  wander  forth  these  sons  (or 
daughters)  of  Belial,  flown  with  insolence  and 
blood.  "  What  time  the  grey  fly  winds  her  sultry 
horn,"  says  Milton  ;  and  that  sultry  horn  is  almost 
more  annoying  than  the  bite  which  it  precedes. 
You  lie  coiled  within  your  mosquito  -  curtains, 
wooing  sweet  sleep  with  appropriate  reflections, 
when  suddenly,  by  your  ear,  comes  that  still  small 
voice,  so  vastly  more  pungent  and  more  irritating 
than  the  voice  of  conscience.  You  light  a  candle, 
and  proceed  to  hunt  for  the  unwelcome  intruder. 
As  if  by  magic,  as  you  strike  your  match,  that 
mosquito  disappears,  and  you  look  in  vain  through 
every  fold  and  cranny  of  the  thin  gauze  curtains. 
At  last  you  give  it  up,  and  lie  down  again,  when 
straightway,  "  z-z-z-z,"  the  humming  at  your  ear 
commences  once  more,  and  you  begin  the  unequal 
contest  all  over  again.  It  is  a  war  of  extermina- 
tion on  either  side — you  thirst  for  her  life,  and 
she  thirsts  for  your  blood.  No  peace  is  possible 
till  one  or  other  combatant  is  finally  satisfied. 

You  can  best  observe  the  mosquito  in  action, 
however,  by  letting  one  settle  undisturbed  on  the 
back  of  your  hand,  and  waiting  while  she  fills 
herself  with  your  blood ;  you  can  easily  watch  her 
doing  so  with  a  pocket  lens.  Like  the  old  lady 
in  "  Pickwick,"  she  is  soon  "  swelling  wisibly."  She 
gorges  herself  with  blood,  indeed,  which  she  straight- 
way digests,  assimilates,  and  converts  into  the  300 
eggs  aforesaid.  But  if,  while  she  is  sucking,  you 
gently  and  unobtrusively  tighten  the  skin  of  your 


BRITISH  BLOODSUCKERS  251 

hand  by  clenching  your  fist  hard,  you  will  find 
that  she  cannot  any  longer  withdraw  her  man- 
dibles ;  they  are  caught  fast  in  your  flesh  by  their 
own  harpoon-like  teeth,  and  there  she  must  stop 
accordingly  till  you  choose  to  release  her.  If  you 
then  kill  her  in  the  usual  manner,  by  a  smart  slap 
of  the  hand,  you  will  see  that  she  is  literally  full  of 
blood,  having  sucked  a  good  drop  of  it. 

The  humming  sound  itself  by  which  the  mos- 
quito announces  her  approaching  visit  is  produced 
in  two  distinct  manners.  The  deeper  notes  which 
go  to  make  up  her  droning  song  are  due  to  the 
rapid  vibration  of  the  female  insect's  wings  as  she 
flies ;  and  these  vibrations  are  found  by  means  of 
a  siren  (an  instrument  which  measures  the  fre- 
quency of  the  waves  in  notes)  to  amount  to  about 
3000  in  a  minute.  The  mosquito's  wings  must, 
therefore,  move  with  this  extraordinary  rapidity, 
which  sufficiently  accounts  for  the  difficulty  we 
have  in  catching  one.  But  the  higher  and  shriller 
notes  of  the  complex  melody  are  due  to  special 
stridulating  organs  situated  like  little  drums  on  the 
openings  of  the  air-tubes  ;  for  the  adult  mosquito 
breathes  no  longer  by  one  or  two  air-entrances  on 
the  tail  or  back,  like  the  larva,  but  by  a  number  of 
spiracles,  as  they  are  called,  arranged  in  rows  along 
the  sides  of  the  body,  and  communicating  with  the 
network  of  internal:  air-chambers.  The  curious 
mosquito  music 'thus  generated  by  the  little  drums 
serves  almost  beyond  a  doubt  as  a  means  of  attract- 
ing male  mosquitoes,  for  it  is  known  that  the  long 
hairs  on  the  antennae  of  the  males,  shown  in  No.  9, 


252 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


Fig.  A,  vibrate  sympathetically  in  unison  with  the 
notes  of  a  tuning-fork,  within  the  range  of  the 
sounds  emitted  by  the  female.  In  other  words, 
hairs  and  drums  just  answer  to  one  another.  We 
may,  therefore,  reasonably  conclude  that  the  female 
sings  in  order  to  please  and  attract  her  wandering 
mate,  and  that  the  antennae  of  the  male  are  organs 
of  hearing  which  catch  and  respond  to  the  buzzing 
music  she  pours  forth  for  her  lover's  ears.  A  whole 
swarm  of  gnats  can  be  brought  down,  indeed,  by 

uttering  the  appro- 
priate note  of  the 
race  ;  you  can  call 
them  somewhat  as 
you  can  call  male 
glow-worms  by 
showing  a  light 
which  they  mistake 
for  the  female. 

A  much  larger 
and  more  powerful 
British  bloodsucker 

than  the  mosquito,  again,  is  the  gadfly  or  horse- 
fly, whose  life-size  portrait  Mr.  Knock  has  drawn 
for  us  in  No.  10.  Most  people  know  this  fear- 
some beast  well  in  the  fields  in  summer.  He 
has  a  trick  of  settling  on  the  back  of  one's  neck, 
and  making  a  hole  in  one's  skin  with  his  sharp 
mandibles ;  after  which  he  quietly  sucks  one's  blood 
almost  without  one's  perceiving  him.  Horses  in 
pastures  are  often  terribly  troubled  by  these  per- 
sistent creatures,  which  make  no  noise,  but  creep 


NO.    10. — THE   GADFLY,    NATURAL  SIZE. 


BRITISH  BLOODSUCKERS  253 

silently  up  and  settle  on  the  most  exposed  parts  of 
the  legs  and  flanks.  They  are  very  voracious,  and 
manage  to  devour  an  amount  of  blood  which  is 
truly  surprising. 

A  little  examination  of  the  gadfly  will  show  you, 
too,  one  important  point  in  which  it  and  all  other 
true  flies  differ  from  the  bees,  wasps,  butterflies, 
and  the  vast  mass  of  ordinary  insects.  All  the 
other  races  have  four  wings,  and  I  showed  you  in 
the  case  of  the  wasp  the  beautiful  mechanism  of 
hooks  and  grooves  by  which  the  fore  and  hind 
wings  are  often  locked  together  in  one  great  group, 
so  as  to  insure  uniformity  and  fixity  in  flying. 
Among  the  true  flies,  however,  including  not  only 
the  house-fly  and  the  meat-fly,  but  also  the  gadflies 
and  the  mosquitoes,  only  one  pair  of  wings — the 
front  pair — is  ever  developed.  The  second  or  hind 
pair  is  feebly  represented  by  a  couple  of  tiny  rudi- 
mentary wings,  known  as  poisers  or  balancers, 
which  you  can  just  make  out  in  the  sketch,  like  a 
couple  of  stalked  knobs,  in  the  space  between  the 
true  wings  and  the  tail  or  abdomen.  It  is  pretty 
clear  that  the  common  ancestor  of  all  these  two- 
winged  flies  must  have  had  four  wings,  like  the 
rest  of  the  great  class  to  which  he  belonged  ;  but 
he  found  it  in  some  way  more  convenient  for  his 
purpose  to  get  rid  of  one  pair,  and  he  has  handed 
down  that  singular  modification  of  structure  to  all 
his  descendants.  Yet  whenever  an  organ  or  set 
of  organs  is  suppressed  in  this  way,  it  almost  always 
happens  that  rudiments  or  relics  of  the  suppressed 
part  remain  to  the  latest  generations  ;  and  thus  the 


254 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


LA. 


MP 


true  flies  still  retain,  in  most  cases,  the  two  tiny 
poisers  or  balancers,  just  to  remind  us  of  their 
descent  from  four-winged  ancestors.  Nature  has 
no  habit  more  interesting  than  this  retention  of 
parts  long  since  disused  or  almost  disused  ;  by 
their  aid  we  are  able  to  trace  the  genealogy  of 

plants   and   ani- 
mals. 

In  No.  1 1  we 
have  a  dissec- 
ted view  of  the 
mouth-organs 
and  blood-suck- 
ing apparatus 
of  the  gadfly, 
immensely  en- 
larged, so  as  to 
show  in  detail 
the  minute  struc- 
ture. In  life, 
all  these  separate 
parts  are  com- 
bined together 
into  a  compound 
sucker  (com- 
monly called  the  proboscis),  which  forms  practi- 
cally a  single  tube  or  sheath  ;  they  are  dissected 
out  here  for  facility  of  comprehension.  The  longest 
part,  marked  LA  in  the  sketch,  is  the  labium  or 
lower  lip,  which  makes  up  the  mass  of  the  tube  ; 
it  ends  in  two  soft  finger-like  pads,  which  are  fleshy 
in  texture,  and  which  enable  it  to  fix  itself  firmly 


NO.  ii. — THE  GADFLY'S  LANCETS,  WITH 

OTHER    PARTS    OF   THE    PROBOSCIS. 


BRITISH  BLOODSUCKERS  255 

(like  a  camel's  foot)  on  the  skin  of  the  victim.  The 
grooved  and  dagger-shaped  organ,  marked  LBR,  is 
the  labrum,  or  upper  lip  ;  and  the  tube  or  sheath 
formed  by  the  shutting  together  of  these  two  parts 
encloses  all  the  other  organs.  Combined,  they 
form  a  trunk  or  proboscis,  not  unlike  that  of  the 
elephant.  But  the  elephant  is  not  a  bloodsucker  ; 
his  trunk  encircles  no  dangerous  cutting  weapon. 
It  is  otherwise  with  the  gadfly,  which  has  a  pair  of 
sharp  knives  within,  for  lancing  the  thick  skin  of 
its  unhappy  victims.  These  knives  are  known  as 
mandibles ,  and  are  marked  MD  in  the  sketch,  one 
on  either  side  of  the  labrum.  They  first  pierce 
the  skin  ;  the  maxillce,  marked  MX,  of  which  there 
are  also  a  pair,  then  lap  up  the  blood  from  the 
internal  tissues.  Finally,  there  is  the  true  tongue 
or  lingua,  marked  L,  which  is  the  organ  for  tasting 
it.  As  to  the  maxillary  palps,  marked  MP,  they  do 
not  form  part  of  the  tube  at  all,  but  stand  outside 
it,  and  assist  like  hands  in  the  work  of  manipulation. 
This  is  how  the  mouth  looks  when  fully  opened 
out  for  microscopic  examination.  But  as  the 
fly  uses  it,  it  forms  a  closed  tube,  of  which  the 
labium  and  the  labrum  are  the  two  walls,  enfold- 
ing the  lances  or  mandibles,  and  the  lickers  or 
maxillae,  as  well  as  the  tongue.  Pack  them  all 
away  mentally,  from  MX  to  MX,  within  the  two 
covers,  and  you  will  then  understand  the  nature 
of  the  mechanism.  Look  back  at  Fig.  B  in 
No.  9,  and  you  will  there  observe  that  all  the 
parts  in  the  mosquito  answer  to  those  in  the 
gadfly.  The  long  upper  sheath  is  the  upper  lip  : 


256 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


then  come  the  lancets,  the  lappers,  and  the  tongue, 
and  last  of  all,  the  lower  lip. 

In  No.  12,  which  is  still  more  highly  magnified, 
we  have  the  essential  parts  of  the  blood-sucking 
apparatus  made  quite  clear  for  us.  Here  LBR  is 
the  tip  of  the  labrum,  or  upper  lip,  forming  the  front 
of  the  groove  or  sheath  in  which  the  lances  work. 

Its  end  is  blunt, 
so  as  to  enable  it 
to  be  pressed  close 
against  the  minute 
hole  formed  by 
the  lances.  MD 
is  the  sharp  tip 
of  one  of  the  two 
lances,  with  its 
serrated  or  saw- 
like  cutting-edge  ; 
this  is  the  organ 
that  does  the 
serious  work  of 
imperceptibly 
piercing  the  skin 
and  the  tissues 
beneath  it.  MX 

is  the  tip  of  one  of  the  maxillae,  or  blood  lappers, 
which  suck  or  lap  up  the  blood  from  the  wound 
after  the  lances  have  opened  it.  I  need  hardly 
call  your  attention  to  the  extraordinary  delicacy 
and  minuteness  of  these  hard,  sharp  weapons, 
strong  enough  to  pierce  the  tough  hide  of  a 
horse,  yet  so  small  that  if  represented  on  the 


NO.  12. — THE  CUTTING  EDGES  OF 
THE  LANCETS. 


BRITISH  BLOODSUCKERS  257 

same  scale  as  the  insect  itself,  you  would  fail  to 
perceive  them. 

Is  it  not  marvellous,  too,  that  the  same  set  of 
organs  about  the  mouth,  which  we  saw  employed 
by  the  wasp  for  cutting  paper  from  wood,  and 
by  the  ant  for  the  varied  functions  of  civilised 
ant-life,  should  be  capable  of  modification  in  the 
butterfly  into  a  sucker  for  honey,  and  in  the  gad- 
fly into  a  cunning  mechanism  for  piercing  thick 
hides  and  feeding  on  the  life-blood  of  superior 
animals.  Nature,  it  seems,  is  sparing  of  ground- 
plan,  but  strangely  lavish  of  minor  modifications. 
She  will  take  a  single  set  of  organs,  inherited  from 
some  early  common  ancestor,  and  keep  them  true 
in  the  main  through  infinite  varieties  ;  but  as 
habits  alter  in  one  species  or  another,  she  will 
adapt  one  of  these  sets  to  one  piece  of  work 
and  another  to  a  second  wholly  unlike  it.  While 
she  preserves  throughout  the  similarity  due  to  a 
common  origin,  she  will  vary  infinitely  the  details 
and  the  minor  structures  so  as  to  make  them 
apply  to  the  most  diverse  functions.  Nothing 
shows  this  truth  more  beautifully,  and  more 
variously,  than  the  mouths  of  insects  ;  and  though 
the  names  by  which  we  call  the  different  parts 
are,  I  will  admit,  somewhat  harsh  and  technical, 
I  feel  sure  that  anybody  who  once  masters  their 
meaning  cannot  fail  to  be  delighted  by  the  end- 
less modifications  by  which  a  few  small  instru- 
ments are  made  to  fit  an  ever-increasing  and 
infinite  diversity  of  circumstances. 


XI 

A  VERY    INTELLIGENT    PLANT 

PEOPLE  who  have  never  had  occasion  to 
observe  plants  closely  often  fall  into  the  error 
of  regarding  them  as  practically  dead — dead, 
that  is  to  say,  in  the  sense  of  never  doing  or  con- 
triving anything  active.  They  know,  of  course, 
that  herbs  and  trees  grow  and  increase  ;  that  they 
flower  and  fruit ;  that  they  put  forth  green  leaves 
in  spring  and  lose  them  again  in  autumn.  But 
they  picture  all  this  as  taking  place  without  the 
knowledge  or  co-operation  of  the  plant  itself — 
they  think  of  it  as  done/or  the  tree  or  shrub  rather 
than  by  it.  Those,  however,  who  have  kept  a  close 
watch  upon  living  green  things  in  their  native  con- 
dition have  generally  learned  by  slow  degrees  to 
take  quite  a  different  view  of  plant  morals  and 
plant  economy.  They  begin  to  find  out  in  the 
course  of  their  observations  that  the  life  of  a 
herb  is  pretty  much  as  the  life  of  an  animal  in 
almost  everything  save  one  small  particular.  The 
plant,  as  a  rule,  is  rooted  to  a  single  spot ;  the 
animal,  as  a  rule,  is  free  and  locomotive. 

Yet  even  this  difference  itself  is  not  quite  abso- 
lute :  for  there  are  on  the  one  hand  locomotive 
plants,  such  as  that  quaint  microscopic  vegetable 


A  VERY  INTELLIGENT  PLANT  259 

tumbler,  the  floating  green  volvox,  which  whirls 
about  quickly  through  the  water  like  a  living  wheel, 
by  means  of  its  rapid  vibratory  hairs ;  and  there 
are,  on  the  other  hand,  fixed  animals,  such  as  the 
oyster  and  the  sea-anemone,  which  are  far  more 
rigidly  attached  to  one  spot  for  life  than,  say,  the 
common  field-orchid  or  the  yellow  crocus.  For 
field-orchids  and  crocuses  do  travel  very  slightly 
from  place  to  place  each  season,  by  putting  out 
fresh  bulbs  or  tubers  at  the  sides  of  the  old  ones, 
and  springing  up  next  year  in  a  spot  a  few  inches 
away  from  their  last  year's  foothold ;  whereas  the 
oyster  and  the  sea-anemone  settle  down  early  in 
life  on  a  particular  rock,  and  never  stir  one  step 
from  it  during  their  whole  existence.  Thus  the 
distinction  which  seems  to  most  people  most  funda- 
mental as  marking  off  plants  from  animals — the 
distinction  of  movement — turns  out  on  examina- 
tion to  be  purely  fallacious.  There  are  sedentary 
animals  and  moving  plants  ;  there  are  herbs  that 
catch  and  eat  insects,  and  there  are  insects  that 
live  a  life  more  uneventful  and  more  stagnant  than 
that  of  any  herb  in  a  summer  meadow. 

Again,  everybody  who  has  studied  plants  in  a 
broad  spirit  is  well  aware  that  each  act  of  the 
plant's  is  just  as  truly  purposive,  as  full  of 
practical  import,  as  any  act  of  an  animal's.  If 
a  child  sees  a  cat  lying  in  wait  at  a  mouse's 
hole,  it  asks  you  why  she  does  so ;  it  is  told,  in 
reply,  and  truly  told,  "  Because  she  wants  to  catch 
her  prey  for  dinner."  But  even  imaginative 
children  seldom  or  never  ask  of  a  rose  or  a 


260  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

narcissus,  "  Why  does  it  produce  this  notch  on 
its  petals  ?  Why  does  it  make  this  curious  crown 
inside  the  cup  of  its  flower  ? "  Those  things  are 
thought  of  as  purely  ornamental ;  as  parts  of  the 
plant,  not  as  organs  made  by  it.  Yet  the  rose 
and  the  narcissus  have  just  as  much  a  reason  of 
their  own  for  everything  they  do  and  everything 
they  make  as  the  cat  or  the  bird ;  they  are  just 
as  much  governed  by  ancestral  wisdom,  though 
the  wisdom  may  in  one  case  be  conscious,  in 
the  other  hereditary. 

The  rose,  for  example,  produces  prickles  for 
its  own  defence,  and  scented  blossoms  to  attract 
the  fertilising  insects  for  its  own  propagation. 
It  does  everything  in  life  for  some  good  and 
sufficient  reason  of  its  own,  and  takes  as  little 
heed  of  other  people's  convenience  as  the  tiger 
or  the  snake  does.  "  Each  species  for  itself,"  is 
the  rule  of  nature  ;  no  species  ever  undertakes 
anything  for  the  sake  of  any  other,  except  in 
the  expectation  of  a  corresponding  advantage.  .If 
the  wild  thyme  lays  by  in  its  throat  abundant 
honey  for  the  bumble-bee,  that  is  because  it  counts 
upon  the  bumble-bee  to  carry  its  pollen  from 
blossom  to  blossom  ;  if  the  holly  puts  forth  bright 
red  berries  for  the  robin  to  eat,  that  is  not  be- 
cause it  cares  for  the  robin's  distress,  but  because 
it  looks  upon  the  bird  as  a  paid  disperser  of  its 
stony  seeds,  and  gives  him  in  return  a  pittance 
of  pulp  for  his  pains,  as  stingy  payment  for  the 
service  rendered.  The  holly  and  the  thyme  are 
confirmed  sweaters.  Indeed,  you  will  find  that 


A  VERY  INTELLIGENT  PLANT  261 

no  plant  ever  wastes  one  drop  more  of  nectar 
on  its  flowers,  or  one  atom  more  of  sweet  pulp 
on  its  fruit,  than  is  absolutely  necessary  to  secure 
its  own  purely  selfish  object.  It  offers  the  bird 
or  the  insect  the  minimum  wage  for  which  bird 
or  insect  will  consent  to  do  the  work  it  contracts 
for ;  and  it  never  wastes  one  farthing's  worth  of 
useful  material  on  tips  or  generosities.  The  rose, 
for  all  that  poets  have  said  of  it,  is  strictly  utili- 
tarian. "  You  help  me  and  I  will  help  you,"  it 
says  to  the  butterfly ;  and  it  keeps  the  sternest 
possible  debtor-and-creditor  account  with  all  its 
benefactors. 

As  a  familiar  example  of  this  purposive  character 
in  all  plant  life,  I  am  going,  in  the  present  chapter, 
to  take  one  of  the  most  utilitarian  shrubs — the 
common  gorse — and  try  to  show  you  why  it 
behaves  as  it  does  in  the  conduct  of  its  affairs  ; 
who  help  it  in  life  and  who  hinder  it,  what  friends 
it  strives  to  buy  or  conciliate,  what  enemies  it 
repels  by  what  violent  acts  of  armed  hostility. 

Everybody  knows  gorse ;  and  everybody  also 
knows  that  it  is  almost  never  out  of  flower.  This 
last  peculiarity,  however,  is  due  to  a  cause  that 
not  everybody  has  noticed.  We  have  two  distinct 
kinds  of  gorse  at  least — the  larger  and  the  smaller. 
It  is  the  larger  sort  that  one  observes  most  when 
it  is  not  in  blossom,  though  it  is  the  smaller 
kind  whose  golden  bloom  contrasts  so  beautifully 
in  autumn  with  the  rich  purple  of  the  upland 
heather.  Now,  the  larger  gorse  begins  to  flower 
in  October  or  November ;  it  goes  on  opening  its 


262 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


buds  spasmodically  in  every  fine  spell  throughout 
the  winter,  reaching  its  fullest  glory  of  blossom  in 
April  and  May  ;  while  the  smaller  kind  begins  to 
flower  in  summer,  as  soon  as  its  larger  cousin 
has  fixed  its  attention  on  setting  seed  ;  and  it  goes 
on  yellowing  our  heaths  with  its  wealth  of  gold 
till  October  or  November,  when  the  bigger  sort 

once  more  replaces 
it  and  takes  up  the 
running.  In  this  way 
there  is  no  bright  day 
throughout  the  year — 
that  is  to  say,  no  day 
fit  for  insects  to  gather 
honey — on  which  one 
kind  of  gprse  or  the 
other  does  not  seek  to 
cater  for  the  friendly 
allies  which  help  it  to 
set  its  precious  seeds, 
as  we  shall  see  in  the 
sequel.  It  is  the  larger 
and  better-known  gorse 
with  which  I  shall  deal 
chiefly  here,  though  I 

may  occasionally  refer  by  way  of  illustration  or 
contrast  to  its  smaller  neighbour. 

If  we  begin  at  the  beginning  in  the  life-history 
of  the  gorse,  it  may  surprise  you  to  find  that  each 
plant  sets  out  on  its  way  through  life,  not  as  a 
prickly  gorse  plant,  but  as  a  sort  of  quiet  and  un- 
armed little  flat  trefoil.  No.  i  shows  you  the 


NO.    I. — THE   BABY   GORSE   PLANT. 


A  VERY  INTELLIGENT  PLANT 


263 


young  furze  bush  in  its  earliest  infantile  stage, 
when  it  is  still  essentially  a  two-leaved  seedling. 
This  seedling  grows  from  a  small  bean  scattered 
by  the  parent  plant  in  a  very  curious  way,  which 
I  will  explain  later.  Thousands  of  the  beans  lie 
on  the  ground  in  every  common,  and  only  a  few 
germinate,  under  favourable  circumstances,  into 
two-leaved  seedlings,  like 
those  represented  in  these 
illustrations.  The  leaves 
of  the  first  pair  spread 
out  flat  on  the  surface  of 
the  unoccupied  soil  and 
drink  in  the  sunlight. 
They  also  drink  in,  what 
is  equally  important  to 
them,  the  carbonic  acid 
of  the  air,  and  manufac- 
ture from  it  the  living 
material  of  fresh  leaves 
by  the  aid  of  the  sun- 
light. For  the  first  few 
days  of  its  life,  the 
young  gorse  plant  lives 
mainly  on  the  food  laid 
up  for  it  in  the  bean  by 

the  parent  bush  ;  but  as  soon  as  this  is  exhausted, 
and  it  has  accumulated  a  little  stock  of  its  own 
by  its  private  exertions,  it  begins  to  manufacture 
new  leaves  and  branches  that  it  may  rise  above 
the  tangled  mass  of  competitors  by  which  its  birth- 
place is  surrounded. 


NO.   2. — THE   GORSE   PLANT   AT 
ONE   WEEK   OLD. 


264  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

No.  2  shows  us  this  second  stage  in  the  young 
shrub's  development.  At  first  sight  you  would 
hardly  suppose  it  was  a  gorse  at  all ;  you  might 
take  it  for  the  young  of  some  such  allied  species 
as  a  broom  or  a  genista.  You  will  observe  that 
at  this  point  in  its  history  the  young  gorse  has 
trefoil  leaves,  not  very  unlike  those  of  some  kinds 
of  clover.  Why  is  this  ?  Well,  we  have  many 
good  reasons  for  supposing  that  the  ancestors  of 
gorse  were  originally  soft-leaved  and  unarmed 
shrubs,  like  the  ornamental  genistas  which  we 
grow  in  pots  for  drawing-room  decoration  ;  but 
as  they  were  much  exposed  on  open  moors  and 
commons,  where  they  were  liable  to  be  grazed 
down  and  browsed  upon  by  rabbits,  sheep,  and 
other  herbivorous  animals,  the  tenderer  and  more 
luscious  among  them  stood  little  chance  of  sur- 
viving. Indeed,  so  hard  is  it  for  plants  to  grow 
in  such  situations,  that  one  not  uncommonly 
finds  tiny  trees  of  Scotch  fir,  close  cropped  to 
the  ground,  yet  with  many  years'  growth  exhi- 
bited by  the  annual  rings  of  wood  in  their 
underground  root-stock.  These  poor  persistent 
little  trees  have  been  nibbled  down,  year  after 
year,  as  soon  as  they  appeared,  by  rabbits  or 
donkeys ;  yet  year  after  year  they  have  gone  on 
sprouting  afresh,  as  well  as  they  could,  and  laying 
by  an  annual  ring  of  woody  tissue  in  buried 
root-stock. 

To  some  such  attacks  the  ancestral  gorses  must 
always  have  been  exposed  on  the  open  moors 
and  hillsides  of  primitive  Europe,  at  first,  no 


A  VERY  INTELLIGENT  PLANT  265 

doubt,  from  deer  and  wild  oxen  and  beavers,  but 
later  on  from  the  sheep  and  cows  and  goats 
and  donkeys  which  followed  in  the  wake  of  ag- 
gressive civilisation.  Under  these  circumstances, 
most  of  the  soft-leaved  and  unprotected  plants 
got  eaten  down  and  killed  off ;  but  any  shrub 
which  showed  a  nascent  tendency  to  develop 
stout  spines  or  prickles  on  their  branches  must 
have  been  favoured  by  nature  in  the  struggle  for 
existence.  The  consequence  was  that  in  the 
end  our  upland  slopes  and  open  spaces  all  over 
Western  Europe  came  to  be  occupied  by  nothing 
but  strongly  armed  plants  —  brambles,  thistles, 
blackthorns,  may-bushes,  nettles,  butcher's-broom, 
and  the  various  kinds  of  furze,  all  of  which  can 
hold  their  own  with  ease  against  the  attacks  of 
quadrupeds.  Indeed,  there  is  one  not  uncom- 
mon English  herb,  the  little  purple-flowered  rest- 
harrow,  which  very  well  illustrates  this  curious 
connection  between  the  production  of  thorns 
and  the  habit  of  growing  in  much  -  browsed- 
over  spots  ;  for  when  it  settles  in  enclosed  and 
protected  fields  it  produces  smooth  and  unarmed 
creeping  branches,  but  when  it  happens  to 
find  its  lot  cast  in  places  where  donkeys  and 
rabbits  abound,  it  defends  itself  against  the  dreaded 
enemy  by  covering  its  shoots  with  stout  woody 
prickles. 

Still,  to  the  end  of  its  days,  the  developed  gorse 
plant  never  entirely  forgets  that  it  is  the  remote 
descendant  of  trefoil-bearing  ancestors ;  for  not 
only  does  every  young  gorse  begin  life  with  trefoil 


266 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


foliage,  but  if  frost  happens  to  check  the  growth  of 
the  budding  branches  in  the  full-grown  bush,  or  if 
fire  singes  them,  the  shrub  at  once  puts  forth  a 

short  sprout  of  trefoil 
leaves  at  the  injured 
point,  as  though  revert- 
ing in  its  trouble  to 
its  infantile  nature. 

In  No.  3  we  see  the 
third  stage  in  the  up- 
ward evolution  of  the 
baby  gorse.  Here, 
the  seedling  begins  to 
outgrow  its  childish 
trefoil  stage,  and  to 
prepare  itself  for  the 
repellent  prickliness 
of  its  armed  manhood. 
You  will  observe  in 
this  case  that  the 
outer  and  lower  leaves 
have  still  three  leaflets 
apiece,  but  that  the 
upper  and  inner  ones 
— that  is  to  say,  the 
youngest  and  latest 
produced  —  have  the 
form  of  single  long 

blades,  like  those  of  the  broom  bush.  As  yet, 
these  solitary  leaves  are  also  unarmed  :  they  do 
not  end  in  sharp  points  like  the  later  foliage,  and 
they  cannot  pierce  or  wound  the  tender  noses  of 


NO.    3. — THE   PLANT   OUTGROWING 
ITS   TREFOIL   STAGE. 


A  VERY  INTELLIGENT  PLANT 


267 


sheep  or  rabbits.  But  if  the  gorse  were  to  con- 
tinue long  in  this  unarmed  condition,  it  would 
stand  a  poor  chance  in 
life  on  its  open  hillsides  ; 
so  it  soon  proceeds  to 
the  stage  exhibited  in 
No.  4.  This  illustration 
shows  you  a  plant  about 
a  fortnight  or  three 
weeks  old,  with  trefoil 
leaves  below,  passing 
gradually  into  silky  and 
hairy  single  blades, 
which  in  turn  grow 
sharper  and  thinner  as 
they  push  upward  to- 
wards the  unoccupied 
space  above  .their  native 
thicket.  Interspersed 
among  these  sharp  little 
leaves  you  will  also  note 
a  few  grooved  branches, 
each  ending  in  a  stout 
prickly  point;  these 
prickles  are  the  chief  de- 
fence of  the  bush  against 
its  watchful  enemies. 
But  the  leaves  and  the 
branches  are  often  so 
much  alike  that  only  a 

skilled  botanist  can  distinguish  the  one  from  the 
other.     Both  are  sharp  and  intended  for  defence  ; 


NO.  4. — THE  YOUNG  SHRUB  BEGINS 
TO  ARM  ITSELF. 


268 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


and  as  the  branches  of  gorse  are  green  like  the 
leaves,  both  perform  the  same  feeding  function. 

In  No.  5  I  have  chosen  for  illustration  and 
comparison  a  full-grown  shoot  of  the  common- 
scented  yellow 
genista,  so  often 
grown  in  pots 
as  a  table  decora- 
tion. This  pretty 
shrub  begins  in 
life  so  much  like 
a  gorse-bush,that 
if  I  were  to  show 
you  very  youth- 
ful seedlings  of 
both,  you  could 
hardly  discrimi- 
nate them.  That 
is  to  say,  in  all 
probability,  both 
are  descendants 
of  a  common  an- 
cestor which  had 
trefoil  leaves  and 
bright  yellow  pea- 
flowers.  But  the 
scented  genistas 

happened  to  find  their  lot  cast  in  inaccessible 
places,  on  cliffs  or  crags,  where  defence  against 
browsing  animals  was  practically  unnecessary ; 
while  our  ruder  northern  gorse  had  its  lines  laid 
on  rough  upland  moors,  where  every  passing  beast 


NO.    5.— ITS    FIRST   COUSIN,    THE    GENISTA. 


A  VERY  INTELLIGENT  PLANT 


269 


could  take  a  casual   bite  at   it.     The   gorse  was, 

therefore,  driven  perforce  into  producing  thorny 

branches   which    would   repel    its   foes,    while   the 

genista    retained    the    old    soft    silky    shoots    and 

broad     trefoil     foliage. 

Broom,  which  is  a  close 

relation   of    both   these 

plants,   with   much   the 

same  yellow  peaflowers 

and   hairy  pods,   occu- 

pies to  some  extent  an 

intermediate       position 

between  the  two  types. 

The  young  shoots  have 

leaves  of  three  leaflets, 

as  shown  in  No.  6  ;  but 

the  older  branches  are 

covered  with  leaves   of 

a  single   leaflet   apiece, 

like    the    second    form 

produced  by  the  gorse 

plant.   The  trefoil  leaves 

of     the      broom     also 

closely   resemble   those 

of  the  laburnum,  which 

is    another     and     more 

tree-like  descendant   of 

the    same    ancient    an- 

cestor, with  similar  yellow  blossoms,  and  pods  and 

beans  of  much  the  same  character.      It  is  interest- 

ing to   observe   in   a  family  of  this  sort  how  the 

young  seedlings  are  in  every  case  almost  identical, 


NO.  6.—  ITS  SECOND  COUSIN, 
THE  BROOM. 


2/0 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


and  how,  as  they  approach  maturity,  they  begin  to 
assume  the  adult  differences  which  mark  off  each 
later  developed  kind  from  the  primitive  and  central 
form  of  its  ancestors. 

But  is  gorse  really   exposed  to  the   attacks  of 
animals  ?     Would  any  herbivore  care  to  eat  such 

hard  food  ?  If 
you  doubt  it,  you 
have  never  lived 
near  a  gorse-clad 
common.  From 
the  moment  the 
seedling  shows 
itself  above  the 
ground  it  is  cease- 
lessly nibbled  at 
by  rabbits  and 
other  rodents  ; 
and  even  after  it 
has  acquired  its 
prickly  armour, 
it  makes  excellent 
fodder,  if  only 
the  sharp  tops 
can  be  rendered 
harmless  to  the 

sensitive  noses  of  cattle  or  donkeys.  Gipsies  know 
this  fact  well  ;  and  you  may  often  see  them  on 
our  Surrey  hills  cutting  the  succulent  young 
branches  and  chopping  them  up  fine  in  a  wooden 
trough  till  the  prickles  are  destroyed.  Their  horses 
then  eat  the  good  green  food  most  greedily. 


NO.    7. — PROTECTING   THE   BUDS    FROM 
BROWSING   ANIMALS. 


A  VERY  INTELLIGENT  PLANT  271 

The  gorse  knows  the  same  thing,  too  ;  and  it 
takes  particular  care  to  preserve  its  leaves  and 
flowers  against  the  aggressive  quadrupeds.  When 
November  comes  it  begins  to  blossom.  No.  7 
shows  you  how  cleverly  and  cautiously  it  makes  its 
preparations  for  this  important  function.  The 
flower-buds,  I  need  hardly  say,  are  particularly  rich 
and  juicy,  and,  there- 
fore, particularly 
liable  to  the  assaults 
of  the  enemy.  Hence, 
you  will  observe,  they 
are  doubly  protected. 
To  guard  against  large 
animals,  each  little 
knot  of  buds  is  care- 
fully placed,  for  safety, 
in  the  angle  formed 
by  the  main  stem  with 
one  of  its  short,  stout 
branches.  Stem  and 
branch  alike  end  in 

•  NO.  8. — THE  GREAT-COAT,  PROTECTING 

a   forbidding  prickle,  THE  BUDS  FR'OM  COLD  AND  FROM 

and  the  buds  are  so          EGG-LAYING  INSECTS. 
set    in   the    axil    that 

it  is  simply  impossible  for  any  browsing  creature 
to  get  at  them  without  encountering  both  these 
serious  weapons.  Indeed,  no  illustration  can  fully 
bring  out  the  beautiful  variety  and  complexity  of 
arrangement  by  which  each  separate  group  of  buds 
is  completely  defended  ;  in  order  to  understand  it 
fully,  I  advise  you,  after  reading  this  chapter,  to  go 


272  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

out  to  the  nearest  common,  and  examine  a  flower- 
ing gorse-bush  for  yourself,  when  you  will  see 
how  wonderfully  and  how  intelligently  the  plant 
provides  for  the  equal  security  of  all  its  blossoms. 
I  do  not  wish  to  be  personal,  but  if  for  one 
moment  you  can  imagine  yourself  a  donkey,  and 
try  to  help  yourself  with  your  teeth  to  some  of  the 
juicy  buds,  you  will  find  that  it  is  practically  im- 
possible to  do  so  without  receiving  a  whole  array 
of  serried  lance -thrusts  from  several  separate 
prickles. 

But  large  animals  are  not  the  only  foes  against 
which  the  gorse  has  to  defend  its  blossoms.  It  is 
almost  equally  exposed  to  the  unfriendly  attentions 
of  flying  insects,  which  desire  to  lay  their  eggs  near 
its  rich  store  of  pollen  and  its  soft  yellow  petals. 
To  ward  off  these  winged  assailants>  mere  prickles 
are  insufficient.  The  insect  can  wriggle  in  side- 
ways, and  so  deposit  its  egg,  which  would  develop 
in  time  into  a  hungry  grub  ;  the  grub  would  pro- 
ceed to  eat  up  the  flower,  and  thus  defeat  the 
object  which  the  plant  has  in  view  in  producing 
its  blossoms.  No.  8  shows  you  how  the  gorse 
meets  this  second  difficulty.  It  covers  up  the  buds 
with  its  stout  calyx,  which,  for  greater  security,  is 
reduced  to  a  pair  of  sepals  only,  though  in  allied 
types  there  are  five,  and  traces  of  the  five  still 
exist  in  the  lobed  top  of  the  existing  calyx.  This 
outer  coverlet,  or  greatcoat,  is  thickly  sprinkled  with 
a  sort  of  fur,  composed  of  dark  brown  hairs,  which 
baffle  the  insects,  and  prevent  them  from  laying 
their  eggs  upon  the  surface.  Indeed,  nothing 


A  VERY  INTELLIGENT  PLANT  273 

keeps  off  insects  so  well  as  hairs ;  they  form  to 
these  little  creeping  creatures  an  impenetrable 
thicket,  like  tropical  jungle  to  an  invading  army. 
Ants,  you  will  remember,  cannot  creep  up  stems 
which  are  thickly  set  with  hairs ;  and  in  warm 
climates,  people  take  advantage  of  this  peculiarity 
by  wrapping  fur  round  the  legs  of  meat-safes, 
so  as  to  keep  off  those  indefatigable  pests  of  the 
equatorial  housekeeper. 

Nor  is  this  the  only  use  of  the  short  brown 
hairs.  I  spoke  of  the  calyx  above  as  a  great-coat, 
for  warmth  is  really  one  of  its  chief  objects.  It 
keeps  off  the  cold  as  well  as  the  insects.  You  must 
remember  that  the  greater  gorse  is  a  winter-flower- 
ing plant :  it  lays  itself  out  to  attract  the  few  stray 
bees  which  flit  out  in  search  of  food  on  sunny 
mornings  in  December  and  January.  A  bush  with 
this  habit  needs  protection  for  its'  buds  from  the 
cold  :i  just  as  you  see  the  crocus  does,  when  it 
wraps  up  its  flowers  in  a  papery  spathe,  and  as  the 
willow  does  when  it  encloses  its  catkins  in  soft, 
silky  coverings.  The  hairy  coat  of  the  gorse-bud 
has  just  the  same  function  :  it  is  there  for  warmth 
as  well  as  for  protection  against  egg-laying  insects. 
That,  I  think,  is  the  reason  why  the  hairs  are 
coloured  brown  ;  because  brown  is  a  good  absorber 
of  heat ;  the  fur  collects  and  retains  whatever 
warmth  it  can  get  from  the  winter  sun  in  his 
friendlier  moments. 

You  will  further  observe  in  the  illustrations,  and 
still  better  on  the  living  gorse-bush,  that  all  the 
buds  are  not  at  the  same  stage  of  development 

s 


274  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

together.  The  plant  does  that  intentionally.  It  is 
a  slow  and  gradual  flowerer.  The  reason  is  plain. 
Our  winter  and  spring  are  proverbially  uncertain. 
The  bush  does  not  want  to  put  all  its  eggs  into  one 
basket.  Sometimes,  in  doubtful  weather,  a  few 
of  the  buds  develop  up  to  the  stage  shown  in 
No.  8,  and  are  just  ready  to  open.  Then  comes 
a  frost,  a  killing  frost,  and  nips  them  in  the  bud, 
more  literally  than  we  often  mean  when  we  use 
that  familiar  metaphor.  In  such  cases,  you  will 
sometimes  find  the  more  advanced  flowers  are 
killed  off  and  never  develop  further.  But  look 
behind  them  in  No.  8,  and  you  will  see  that  the 
bush  holds  in  reserve  a  number  of  younger  buds, 
against  this  very  contingency.  They  are  wrapped 
up  tight  in  their  warm  brown  overcoats,  and  they 
keep  one  another  warm  as  they  nestle  against  the 
stem  ;  so  that  however  sharp  the  frost,  they  seldom 
suffer,  in  England  at  any  rate.  Beyond  the  Rhine, 
where  the  winters  are  severer,  both  buds  and  foliage 
would  be  nipped  by  the  east  wind ;  and  so  the 
smaller  gorse  is  confined  to  the  portion  of  Europe 
west  of  the  Rhineland,  while  even  the  greater  kind 
cannot  live  in  Russia.  To  eastward  its  place  is 
taken  by  hardier  shrubs,  which  have  still  more 
special  methods  of  protection  against  the  severe 
weather.  In  Western  Europe,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  buds  are  so  arranged  that  in  spite  of  frost  we 
get  a  constant  succession  of  gorse-blossoms  from 
November  to  May  or  June,  when  the  running  is 
taken  up  by  the  smaller  summer  species.  Thus 
the  bees  are  never  deprived  of  gorse-blossom 


A  VERY  INTELLIGENT  PLANT  275 

and  kissing,  as  the  old  saw  says,  is  never  out  of 
fashion. 

I  have  said  above  that  gorse  protects  itself 
against  flying  insects.  But  not  indiscriminately. 
It  is  a  respecter  of  persons.  While  it  wishes 
to  keep  off  the  egg-laying  and  flower- gnawing 
types,  it  wishes  to  attract  and  allure  the  honey- 
suckers  and  fertilisers.  For  this  object  alone 
it  produces  its  bright  yellow  petals  and  its  deli- 
cious, nutty  perfume,  which  hangs  so  sweetly  on 
the  air  in  warm  April  weather.  And  I  know 
few  things  in  plant  life  more  instructive  and 
interesting  to  observe  than  the  way  of  a  bee  with 
this  flower.  Go  out  and  watch  it,  and  verify  my 
statements.  When  the  blossom  first  opens,  it 
looks  somewhat  as  in  No.  9,  only  that  the  keel, 
as  we  call  the  lower  part  of  the  flower,  is  not  half 
open,  as  there,  but  firmly  locked  together  above 
the  stamens  on  its  upper  edges.  This  keel,  as  you 
may  note  in  No.  10,  consists  of  two  petals  slightly 
joined  together  at  the  margin.  On  either  side  of 
it  come  two  other  petals,  which  we  call  the  wings, 
and  which  are  fitted  with  a  funny  little  protuber- 
ance at  their  base  so  arranged  that  it  locks  the 
whole  lower  part  of  the  blossom  together.  This 
mechanism  cannot  be  seen  in  the  illustrations, 
nor  indeed  can  it  be  properly  understood  except 
in  action  ;  but  gorse  is  so  universal  a  plant  that 
most  of  my  readers  can  observe  it  and  examine 
it  for  themselves  at  leisure.  The  upper  petal 
of  all,  known  as  the  standard,  has  no  special  duty 
to  perform  save  that  of  advertisement.  It  attracts 


276 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


the  insects,  and  shows  them  in  which  direction  to 
approach  the  flower. 

Now  comes  the  strangest  part  of  the  whole 
process  of  flowering.  When  the  bee  settles  on 
the  blossom,  she  alights  on  the  keel  and  wings,  to 
which  she  clings  by  her  fore-legs,  and  so  weighs 
down  the  entire  lower  portion  of  the  mechanism 
with  her  weight.  As  she  does  so,  the  clasps 

or  knobs  on 
the  wings  come 
undone,  and  the 
whole  flower 
springs  open  ela- 
stically,  as  you 
see  it  in  No.  10, 
exposing  the 
stamens  and  the 
young  pod  which 
form  its  central 
organs.  At  the 
same  moment, 

NO.   p.— THE  FLOWER,   HALF  OPENED.  the  pOllen,which 

is  specially  ar- 
ranged for  this  contingency,  bursts  forth  in  a  little 
explosive  cloud,  covering  the  body  and  legs  of  the 
visiting  insect.  She  takes  no  notice  of  this  queer 
manoeuvre  on  the  part  of  the  plant,  being  quite 
familiar  with  it,  but  goes  on  helping  herself  to  the 
store  of  honey.  As  soon  as  she  has  rifled  it  all, 
she  flies  away,  and  visits  a  second  flower  of  the 
same  kind.  In  the  act  of  doing  so,  she  rubs  off 
on  its  sensitive  surface  the  pollen  with  which  the 


A  VERY  INTELLIGENT  PLANT 


277 


last  blossom  dusted  her,  each  part  being  so  con- 
trived that  what  she  takes  from  one  flower  she 
hands  on  to  another.  You  can  see  the  little  tufted 
stigma  standing  up  in  the  centre  of  No.  10,  and  can 
understand  how  it  must  catch  on  its  tip  the  fertilis- 
ing yellow  grains  which  the  bee  collected  in  a  pre- 
vious explosion. 
But  now  no- 
tice a  curious 
thing  that  next 
happens.  When 
once  the  flower 
is  "  sprung,"  as 
we  call  it — that 
is  to  say,  thus  ela- 
stically  opened 
— the  keel  and 
wings  never  go 
back  again  into 
their  original 
position.  They 
remain  perma- 
nently open. 
You  will  thus 
comprehend  that 
there  is  a  great 

difference  between  the  virgin  flower,  in  which  the 
keel  and  wings  are  locked  over  the  stamens,  and 
the  "sprung"  one,  in  which  the  keel  and  wings 
have  descended  from  their  first  position  so  that 
the  entire  centre  of  the  blossom  is  exposed  to 
view.  Moreover,  after  the  flower  is  once  ferti- 


NO.    10. — THE   FLOWER,    SPRUNG,    AND 
DISCHARGING   POLLEN-SHOWERS. 


278  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

Used,  it  produces  no  more  bribes  for  the  bee  ;  it 
has  got  all  it  wants  out  of  her,  and  it  is  certainly 
not  going  to  find  her  in  food  and  pay  her  wages 
for  nothing.  The  consequence  is,  that  a  "  sprung  " 
flower  becomes,  as  it  were,  an  advertisement  to  the 
bee  of  "  Nothing  to  eat  here."  If  you  watch  a 
bee  paying  her  visits  to  a  gorse-bush,  you  will  find 
that  she  passes  by  the  "  sprung  "  flowers  without 
the  slightest  notice — seems,  in  fact,  oblivious  of 
their  existence  ;  but  she  fastens  at  once  on  each 
virgin  flower,  and  promptly — though,  of  course, 
unconsciously — fertilises  it.  Such  a  device  for 
showing  the  visiting  insects  automatically  which 
flowers  are  fertilised  and  which  are  not  is,  natu- 
rally, a  great  saving  of  time ;  and  plants  which 
develop  such  devices  gain  such  an  advantage 
thereby  as  neither  they  nor  the  bees  are  slow  to 
appreciate.  In  some  cases,  as  seen,  as  soon  as 
the  blossom  has  begun  to  set  its  seeds,  it  changes 
colour  as  a  sign  to  the  bees  and  butterflies  that 
it  is  no  longer  open  to  receive  their  visits ;  in 
others,  the  petals  fall  the  moment  fertilisation  is 
effected,  and  so  the  flower  ceases  to  be  at  all 
conspicuous. 

In  the  gorse-bush,  the  petals,  however,  do  not 
fall  at  all.  They  remain  to  enclose  the  young  pod 
as  it  swells  and  develops.  The  reason  for  this 
divergence  from  the  usual  habit  of  plants  is,  I 
think,  because  the  gorse-bush  flowers  and  ripens 
its  fruit  in  such  very  cold  weather,  that  the  young 
and  tender  pods  need  all  the  cover  they  can  get  at 
the  moment  when  they  begin  to  swell  and  to  go 


A  VERY  INTELLIGENT  PLANT  279 

through  the  important  process  of  fructification. 
The  calyx  and  the  petals  help  to  keep  things  warm 
for  them,  and  so  they  persist  till  the  pods  are 
ready  to  open  and  discharge  their  beans. 

Each  pod  contains  as  a  rule  four  beans,  and 
these  are  fat  and  well  stored  with  nutriment  for 
the  baby  seedling.  The  young  plant  subsists  for 
its  first  few  days  on  the  nourishment  thus  laid  by 
for  it ;  for  gorse  is  not  one  of  those  improvident 
plants  which  turn  their  young  ones  loose  upon 
a  cold  and  unsympathetic  world  without  a  coin 
in  their  pockets,  so  to  speak,  to  fall  back  upon. 
Plants  in  this  respect  differ,  like  human  beings. 
Some  send  their  offspring  out,  mere  street  arabs 
of  the  vegetable  world,  without  any  capital  to  live 
upon  ;  others  provide  them  with  a  good  stock  or 
reserve  of  foodstuff  which  suffices  them  till  they 
are  of  an  age  to  earn  their  own  living.  You  can 
judge  by  the  fatness  and  distention  of  the  pod  in 
No.  1 1  that  the  young  beans  of  the  gorse  are 
fairly  provided  for  in  this  respect.  Indeed,  so 
rich  are  they  in  food,  that  they  would  suffer  seri- 
ously from  two  sets  of  enemies,  were  they  not 
protected  against  both  exactly  as  the  buds  are. 
The  stout  prickles  at  the  ends  of  the  branches 
efficiently  repel  the  assaults  of  browsing  animals  ; 
the  close  hairs  on  the  pods  (not  seen  in  the  sketch) 
just  as  efficiently  repel  the  insects  which  would 
fain  lay  their  eggs  in  the  beans,  as  one  knows 
they  do  in  the  similar  case  of  the  edible  peas  in 
our  garden. 

Nothing    is    more    beautiful    about    the    gorse, 


280 


FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 


indeed,  than  the  soft,  close  covering  of  fur  in 
the  young  pods,  which  gives  them  almost  the 
appearance  of  miniature  ducklings.  No  insect 
can  penetrate  it ;  and  if  only  the  first  few  days 
pass  by  without  serious  mishap,  the  gorse  may 
count  upon  maturing  its  seeds  in  peace  and  quiet- 
ness. 

They    ripen    in    the    first    basking    warmth    of 
July,  or  often  earlier.     As  soon  as  they  are  ready 

for  dispersal,  the  bush 
has  a  device  for  scatter- 
ing them  and  sowing 
them  in  proper  places 
for  their  due  germina- 
tion, which  is  quite  in 
accordance  with  its 
other  proceedings. 
Gorse,  indeed,  is  a  very 
explosive  species.  It 
knows  the  full  value  of 
the  propulsive  habit. 
The  valves  of  the  pods 
remain  straight  and 

rigid  after  the  beans  have  ripened ;  but  the  sides 
contract,  only  the  ribs  or  thickened  edges  keeping 
them  extended  in  their  places.  At  last,  on  some 
very  sunny  morning,  the  baking  heat  dries  them 
up  to  such  a  point  that  they  can  no  longer  hold 
together.  They  curl  up  suddenly  and  violently, 
as  you  see  in  No.  12,  and  expel  the  beans,  shoot- 
ing them  out  like  little  bullets  all  over  the  common. 
If  you  happen  to  sun  yourself  on  a  gorse-clad 


NO.    II.— THE   POD,   WITH   THE 
BEANS   WITHIN   IT. 


A  VERY  INTELLIGENT  PLANT  281 

moor  on  such  a  warm  summer  morning,  you  will 
hear,  from  time  to  time,  little  abrupt  discharges 
as  if  a  succession  of  toy  pistols  were  being  con- 
tinually fired  off  in  the  thicket  all  round  you. 
These  noises  are  due  to  the  bursting  pods  of 
gorse,  which  go  off  one  after  another,  and  shed 
their  seeds  piecemeal  over  a  considerable  area. 
Should  you 
look  in  early 
spring  on  the 
bare  spots 
around  a  moor 
or  common, 
you  will  find 
gorse  seedlings 
by  the  thou- 
sand, all  fight- 
ing it  out 
among  them- 
selves,  and  all 
trying  their 

,         ,  NO.    12. — THE   POD,    AFTER   DISCHARGING 

best  to  occupy  THE  BEANS  ELASTICALLY. 

the    uncovered 

spaces  in  the  neighbourhood  of  their  parents. 

And  here  the  wonder  of  their  lives  begins  all 
over  again.  For  while  the  gorse  was  old  and 
woody,  it  grew  like  gorse,  all  stern  and  prickly. 
But  as  soon  as  the  young  seedlings  start  afresh  in 
life,  they  seem  to  forget  their  parents  :  they  revert 
once  more  to  the  old  trefoil  condition.  All  young 
plants  and  animals,  at  least  in  their  embryonic 
stages,  show  this  strange  tendency  to  throw  back 


282  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

at  first  to  the  ancestral  form ;  and  it  is  fortunate 
for  us  that  they  do  so,  for  it  often  enables  us  to 
perceive  underlying  relationships  which  in  the 
adult  form  escape  our  notice.  Nobody  who  looked 
at  a  furze-bush  in  its  stiff  and  prickly  old  age 
would  ever  suspect  it  at  first  sight  of  a  cousinship 
with  clover.  Yet  when  we  consider  the  trefoil 
leaves  of  the  seedling,  and  the  shape  of  the  sepa- 
rate peaflowers  in  the  adult  form,  we  can  see  for 
ourselves  that  the  two  plants  are  far  closer  together 
than  we  might  be  tempted  to  imagine.  Indeed 
between  the  little  creeping  yellow  clovers  and  the 
aggressive  furze  or  the  tall  and  beautiful  laburnum, 
we  can  find  even  now  a  regular  series  of  con- 
necting links  which  show  clearly  that  all  alike  are 
slightly  divergent  descendants  of  a  single  common 
ancestor. 

We  may  conclude,  then,  that  gorse  in  every 
particular  lays  itself  out  in  life  to  fight  its  own 
battle,  and  to  meet  the  peculiarities  of  its  special 
situation  by  its  own  exertions.  Born  a  trefoil- 
bearing  plant,  unarmed  and  undefended,  it  pro- 
duces spines  instead  of  leaves  as  soon  as  its  growth 
exposes  it  to  the  attacks  of  enemies.  It  defends 
its  buds  alike  from  the  attacks  of  cattle  and  the 
assaults  of  insects  ;  it  wraps  them  up  from  the  cold 
in  efficient  overcoats.  It  cares  for  its  young  and 
lays  up  food  in  its  beans  on  their  account ;  it 
scatters  its  seed  upon  unoccupied  spots  where  they 
may  stand  the  best  chance  of  picking  up  a  living. 
All  these  acts  are  analogous  to  those  produced  by 
intelligence  in  animals  ;  and  though  the  intelligence 


A  VERY  INTELLIGENT  PLANT  283 

is  here  no  doubt  unconscious  and  inherited,  I 
think  we  are  justified  in  applying  the  same  word  in 
both  cases  to  operations  whose  effects  are  so  closely 
similar.  Gorse,  in  short,  may  fairly  be  called  a 
clever  and  successful  plant,  just  as  the  bee  may  be 
called  a  clever  and  successful  insect,  because  it 
works  out  its  own  way  through  life  with  such 
conspicuous  wisdom. 


XII 

A    FOREIGN   INVASION   OF    ENGLAND 

OUR  worst  enemies  are  not  always  the  most 
apparent  ones.  It  is  easy  enough  to  build 
forts  for  the  protection  of  our  towns  and 
harbours  against  French  or  Germans,  but  it  is 
very  difficult  to  devise  means  of  defence  against 
such  insidious  foreign  invaders  as  the  influenza 
germ  or  the  Colerado  beetle.  France  lost  much 
by  the  war  with  Germany,  but  she  probably  lost 
more  by  the  silent  onslaught  of  the  tiny  phylloxera, 
which  attacked  her  vineyards — attacked  them,  liter- 
ally, root  and  branch,  and  paralysed  for  several 
years  one  of  her  richest  industries.  Yet  invasions 
like  these,  being  less  obvious  to  the  eye  than 
the  landing  of  a  boat-load  of  French  or  German 
marines  on  some  bare  rock  in  the  Pacific  claimed 
by  Britain,  attract  far  less  attention  than  aggres- 
sions on  the  Niger  or  advances  in  Central  Africa. 
The  smallness  of  the  foe  makes  us  overlook  its 
real  strength — it  has  the  force  of  numbers.  We 
forget  that  while  we  can  exterminate  hostile  human 
bands  with  Armstrongs  and  torpedo-boats,  the  re- 
sources of  civilisation  are  still  all  but  powerless 
against  the  potato  blight,  the  vine  disease,  and  the 

destroying  microbe. 

284 


A  FOREIGN  INVASION  OF  ENGLAND       285 

The  enemies  of  our  corn  crops  in  particular  are 
many  and  various.  There  is  the  wheat-beetle,  for 
example,  which  ravages  the  wheat-fields  in  two 
ways  at  once,  the  grub  devouring  the  growing 
young  leaves,  while  the  perfect  winged  insect  eats 
up  at  leisure  the  grain  as  it  ripens.  There  are  the 
various  cockchafers,  which  vie  with  one  another 
in  their  cruel  depredations  on  the  standing  corn. 
There  are  the  skip- jacks  and  wire- worms,  and  other 
queerly  named  beasties,  which  attack  the  roots  of 
the  plant  underground.  There  is  the  corn  saw-fly, 
whose  larva  feeds  on  the  stalk  of  rye  and  wheat, 
till  it  finally  cuts  off  the  whole  haulm  altogether 
close  to  the  soil  at  the  bottom.  There  are  the 
midges  which  lay  their  eggs  in  the  swelling  ear, 
where  the  maggots  develop  and  prevent  the  proper 
growth  of  the  impregnated  grain.  There  is  the 
gout-fly,  which  causes  a  gouty  swelling  at  the 
joints,  and  the  corn  -  moth,  which  devours  the 
stored  wheat  in  the  granary.  There  are  the  red- 
rnaggot,  and  the  grain-aphis,  and  the  thrips,  and  the 
daddy-longlegs,  all  of  which  in  various  ways  prove 
themselves  serious  enemies  of  the  agricultural 
interest.  And  there  are  dozens  more  known  only 
to  men  of  science  by  dry  Latin  names,  and  duly 
chronicled  by  the  farmer's  friend,  Miss  Ormerod, 
in  many  learned  and  exhaustive  monographs. 

But  as  if  these  were  not  enough  for  our  "de- 
pressed "  neighbours,  the  agriculturists,  the  last 
ten  years  or  so  have  seen  England  invaded  by  a 
foreign  foe,  either  from  Germany  or  America — 
a  foe  whose  life-history  has  been  made  a  special 


286  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

subject  of  study  by  my  collaborator,  Mr.  Enock, 
and  whose  strange  story  I  shall  detail  (largely 
from  his  materials)  with  no  unnecessary  scientific 
verbiage  in  this  present  chapter. 

The  new  invader  is  called  the  Hessian  fly ;  and 
he  made  his  first  appearance  in  Britain,  or  at  least 
first  attracted  official  entomological  attention  in 
this  country,  in  1886.  If  he  was  here  earlier, 
he  skulked  incognito.  For  more  than  a  century, 
however,  he  had  already  been  a  great  scourge  in 
America,  where  he  first  acquired  the  name  of 
Hessian  fly  during  the  revolutionary  war,  through 
the  popular  belief  that  he  had  been  imported  from 
Europe  into  Pennsylvania  by  the  Hessian  troops 
employed  as  mercenaries  by  George  III.  in  his 
fruitless  struggle  against  the  revolted  colonies. 
The  Hessians  were  the  betes  noires  of  the  patriotic 
Americans  ;  and  the  farmers,  finding  their  crops 
devastated  by  a  pest  till  then  unknown,  came 
at  once  to  the  conclusion  that  their  enemy,  King 
George,  had  sent  the  two  plagues,  human  and 
entomological,  over  sea  together.  They  regarded 
the  question  much  in  the  same  spirit  as  that  of 
the  loyal  poet  in  the  "  Rejected  Addresses,"  when 
he  asks  about  Napoleon,  "  Who  fills  the  butchers' 
shops  with  large  blue  flies  ? "  The  Briton  set 
down  every  natural  misfortune  to  "the  Corsican 
ogre  "  ;  the  American  set  down  all  evils  that  befell 
him  to  the  Rhenish  mercenaries. 

Ever  since  that  day,  much  controversy  has  raged 
in  America  and  Germany  as*  to  the  original  home 
of  the  destructive  creature.  One  school  of  dis- 


A  FOREIGN  INVASION  OF  ENGLAND       287 

putants  hotly  maintains  that  the  Hessian  fly,  which 
now  abounds  in  parts  of  France,  Austria,  and 
Russia,  is  a  native  of  the  Old  World,  and  that  its 
first  home  coincided  with  that  of  our  primitive 
cereals,  Southern  Europe  and  Western  Asia.  An- 
other school,  anxious  to  make  out  the  enemy  an 
American  citizen,  fights  hard  for  its  being  an 
aboriginal  inhabitant  of  the  United  States.  Thus 
much,  at  least,  is  certain,  that  at  the  present  day 
the  "fly"  is  found  in  both  hemispheres  in  too 
great  abundance,  and  that  in  America  in  particular 
in  certain  disastrous  years  it  has  almost  ruined 
the  entire  wheat  crop.  I  have  seen  whole  fields 
upon  fields  there  simply  pillaged  by  its  ravages. 
The  loss  produced  by  this  insignificant  little  crea- 
ture, indeed,  has  in  some  seasons  been  measured 
by  millions  of  pounds  sterling. 

If  you  go  out  into  a  barley-field  in  England 
where  the  Hessian  fly  has  effected  his  entrance, 
you  will  probably  find  a  large  number  of  plants  of 
barley,  like  that  delineated  in  No.  i,  with  the 
stem  bent  down  sharply  toward  the  ground  at  the 
second  joint.  At  first  sight  you  might  imagine 
these  stalks  were  merely  broken  by  the  wind  or 
fallen  by  their  own  weight ;  but  if  you  exa- 
mine them  closely  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
bend,  which  occurs  with  singular  unanimity  in 
all  the  affected  plants  at  about  the  same  point, 
you  will  find  inside  the  sheath  of  the  blade,  where 
it  encircles  the  stem,  a  curious  little  body  which 
the  farmers  with  rough  eloquence  have  agreed 
to  describe  as  a  "  flax-seed."  If  you  watch  the 


288  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

development  of  the  "  flax- seed"  again,  you  will 
find  that  it  is  not  a  seed  at  all,  but  the  pupa- 
case  (or  rather  the  grub-shell)  of  a  small  winged 
insect ;  and  it  is  the  life-history  of  this  insect,  the 
Hessian  fly,  that  I  now  propose  to  sketch  for  you 
in  brief  outline. 

No.  2  shows  the  mother  fly  herself,  very  much 
enlarged,  for  in  nature  she  is  but  a  small  black 
gnat,  belonging  to  the  same  group  as  our  old 


NO.  I. — AN  INVALID  BARLEY  PLANT. 

friend  (and  foe)  the  mosquito.  You  will  observe 
that  she  is  a  fairy- like  creature,  for  all  her  wicked- 
ness :  she  has  two  delicately  fringed  wings  (with 
"poisers"  behind  them),  a  pair  of  long  antennae 
with  beaded  joints,  six  spindle  legs,  and  a  very 
full  and  swollen  body.  She  needs  that  swollen 
body,  for  she  is  a  mighty  egg-layer.  She  flies 
about  on  the  stubbles  in  September,  and  lays  her 
eggs  on  the  self-sown  barley  plants  and  on  the 
aftergrowth  of  the  cut  crops  ;  as  well  as  in  spring 


A  FOREIGN  INVASION  OF  ENGLAND       289 


(a  second  brood)  on  the  new  sprouting  barley. 
One  industrious  female  which  Mr.  Knock  watched 
when  so  employed  laid  no  less  than  158  eggs  on 
six  distinct  plants ;  while  another  laid  eighty  on  a 
single  leaf.  He  has  noted  in  detail  many  cases  in 
the  same  way,  and  all  show  an  astonishingly  high 
level  of  matu- 
rity. The  eggs 
are  extremely 
minute,  and 
are  pale  orange 
in  colour,  with 
reddish  dots. 
Most  of  them 
are  deposited 
on  the  leaf 
itself,  or  on  the 
sheath  or  tube 
which  forms  its 
lower  portion. 
And  now 
see  how  clever 
this  dainty 
little  creature 
is  !  She  lays 

her  eggs  with  the  head  end  downward;  and  as 
soon  as  the  tiny  grub  hatches,  which  it  does 
about  the  fourth  day,  it  emerges  from  the  shell, 
and  walks  straight  down  towards  the  stem,  at  the 
point  where  the  protecting  leaf-sheath  is  wrapped 
closely  round  it.  The  worm  forces  itself  in 
between  the  stem  and  the  sheath,  and  after 

T 


NO.   2. — THE   SOURCE   OF   THE   MISCHIEF: 
THE   HESSIAN   FLY. 


2po  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

walking  steadily  for  four  hours,  at  the  end  of 
which  time  it  has  covered  a  record  space  of 
nearly  three  inches,  it  arrives  at  the  joint,  where 
the  sheath  begins,  and  so  finds  its  way  blocked  by 
the  partition  wall ;  it  can  get  no  further.  Here 


NO.    3. — THK   GRUB   AT   WORK. 

then  the  young  grub  stops,  as  you  see  in  No.  3, 
wedged  tightly  in  between  the  leaf-sheath  and  the 
stem,  and  with  its  head  pointing  downward.  Being 
a  hungry,  and  therefore  an  industrious  creature, 
it  at  once  sets  to  work  to  eat  the  barley-plant. 
This  it  does  by  fixing  its  sucker-like  mouth  on  the 


A  FOREIGN  INVASION  OF  ENGLAND       291 

soft,  sweet,  and  juicy  portion  of  the  stem  just  above 
the  joint — that  same  soft,  sweet,  and  juicy  portion 
which  children  love  to  pull  out  and  suck,  and 
from  which  the  grub,  too,  sucks  the  life- juice  of  the 
barley-plant.  Naturally,  however,  you  can't  suck 
a  plant's  life-blood  without  injuring  its  growth  ;  so, 
after  a  very  short  time,  the  enfeebled  stem  begins  to 
bend,  as  you  see  in  No.  3,  a  little  distance  above 
the  point  where  the  grub  is  devouring  it.  It  has 
been  undermined,  and  its  vitality  sapped,  so  it  gives 
way  at  once  near  the  source  of  the  injury. 

How  much  damage  this  action  does  to  the  crop 
you  can  best  understand  by  a  glance  at  the  two 
next  contrasted  illustrations.  No.  4  represents 
"  seven  well-favoured  ears "  of  barley,  unaffected 
by  Hessian  fly,  and  with  the  grains  richly  filled  out 
as  the  farmer  desires  them  ;  No.  5,  on  the  contrary, 
shows  you  "  seven  lean  ears,"  attacked  by  the  fly, 
and  bent  and  ruined  in  various  degrees  by  the 
indirect  action  of  the  silently  gnawing  larva.  Look 
on  this  picture  and  on  that,  and  you  will  then 
appreciate  the  British  farmer's  horror  of  his  in- 
significant opponent.  You  will  observe,  by  the 
way,  that  I  speak  throughout  of  barley,  not  of 
wheat.  This  is  because  in  England,  where  these 
sketches  are  studied,  the  time  of  wheat-sowing  is 
such  that  the  wheat  has  so  far  escaped  the  pest ; 
the  female  flies  are  all  dead  before  the  crop  is 
sprouted  :  whereas  in  America  the  "  fall  wheat " 
comes  up  at  the  exact  moment  when  the  female 
Hessian  fly  is  abroad  and  scouring  the  fields  in 
search  of  plants  on  which  to  lay  the  eggs  of  her 


292  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

future  generations.  In  England,  therefore,  it  is 
barley  alone  which  is  largely  attacked ;  and  since 
barley  is  mainly  used  for  malting,  to  make  beer 
or  whisky,  the  teetotaler  may  perhaps  reflect  with 


NO.   4.— SEVEN    WELL- FAVOURED    EARS,    UNATTACKED. 

complacency  that  the  fly  is  merely  playing  the 
game  of  the  United  Kingdom  Temperance  Alliance. 
His  joy,  however,  is  fallacious,  for,  on  the  other 
hand,  if  we  don't  raise  enough  barley  at  home  to 
brew  our  ale,  we  don't  on  that  account  refrain 


A  FOREIGN  INVASION  OF  ENGLAND       293 

from  malt  liquors  :  we  buy  it  from  elsewhere  ;  so 
that,  in  the  eyes  of  the  impartial  political  economist 
at  least,  the  Hessian  fly  in  Britain  must  be  regarded 
as  an  unmitigated  national  misfortune. 

The  grub  eats  and  eats,  in  his  safe  cradle  between 
the  sheath  and  the  stem,  till  he  is  ready  to  pass 


NO.    5. — SEVEN   LEAN   EARS,    ATTACKED   BY   GRUBS. 

into  the  adult  condition.  But  he  does  this  by 
various  and  complicated  stages,  all  of  which  I  do 
not  propose  to  set  forth  in  full  with  the  tedious 
minuteness  of  a  scientific  treatise,  lest  I  weary  that 
fastidious  and  somewhat  lazy  person,  the  "  general 
reader."  It  must  suffice  here  to  say,  in  brief,  that 


294  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

the  larva  is  at  first  soft  and  free,  but  that  before 
becoming  a  true  pupa  or  chrysalis  he  passes  through 
an  intermediate  encased  or  "  flax-seed "  stage,  in 
which  he  performs  some  curious  evolutions.  The 
young  larva  when  he  starts  in  life  is  whitish  or 
yellowish  ;  in  the  "  flax-seed  "  stage  he  becomes  a 
rich  chestnut  brown,  and  seems  externally  quiescent. 
But  the  fact  is,  he  arrives  at  full  growth  in  the 
white  form,  and  then  leaves  off  feeding  ;  his  skin 
now  hardens  and  darkens,  and  he  looks  from  out- 
side very  much  like  a  pupa.  Indeed,  his  outer 
covering  is  now  a  sort  of  solid  pupa-case,  in  shape 
just  the  same  as  the  original  grub,  but  more  sombre 
in  colour.  No.  6  shows  you  the  portrait  of  the 
grub  in  this  curious  intermediate  condition.  If 
you  compare  it  with  No.  3,  you  will  see  that  the 
outer  skin  still  preserves  the  original  shape  of  the 
fat  young  larva  ;  but  that  the  enclosed  grub  him- 
self, here  shown  as  if  the  case  were  transparent, 
has  shrunk  away  from  his  own  old  skin,  just  as  a 
ripe  nut  shrinks  away  from  its  shell,  to  borrow 
Mr.  Enock's  admirable  phrase  for  describing  the 
process.  And  this  strange  shrinkage  is  connected 
with  a  very  curious  fact  in  the  eventful  life-history 
of  the  Hessian  fly  ;  it  tells  us  of  a  problem  which 
the  grub  has  to  face,  and  for  which  it  has  devised 
a  most  unexpected  solution. 

You  remember  that  the  young  maggot  had 
necessarily  to  work  its  way  head  downward  along 
the  stalk,  in  order  to  fix  itself  in  the  only  place 
where  it  can  find  the  soft  food  needful  for  it, 
between  the  sheath  and  the  stem,  where  the  tissue 


A  FOREIGN  INVASION  OF  ENGLAND       295 

is  tenderest.  But  when  it  emerges  later  on  in  the 
open  air  as  a  fly,  it  has  to  walk  back  again  to  the 
outer  world  above  the  joint ;  and  this  it  could  not 
do  if  it  had  still  to  go  head  downward.  Yet  there 
seems  no  room  for  it  to  turn  in.  Somehow  or 


NO.   6.— THE  GRUB  TURNING   ROUND   INSIDE   ITS   OWN   SKIN. 

other,  in  that  restricted  space,  it  must  reverse  its 
position  ;  it  must  get  itself  head  upward.  How 
is  it  to  do  so  ?  This  difficulty  early  struck  Mr. 
Enock  in  his  examination  of  the  creature's  life ; 
and  with  characteristic  patience  he  determined  to 
investigate  it.  His  researches  not  only  answered 


296  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

the  question  itself,  but  also  discovered  a  meaning 
and  purpose  in  a  certain  organ  of  the  adult  grub, 
the  nature  of  which  had  heretofore  been  a  standing 
puzzle  to  that  section  of  society  which  interests 
itself  prominently  in  the  Hessian  fly  question.  The 
larva  in  its  "  flax-seed  "  stage  develops  an  odd  and 
very  hard  organ,  known  as  "  the  anchor-process," 
near  the  head  ;  and  this  "  anchor-process,"  as  Mr. 
Enock  has  shown,  is  used  by  the  grub  to  turn 
it  round  completely  within  its  hardened  pupa-case. 
(The  last  phrase,  I  will  admit,  is  not  quite  scienti- 
fically correct,  but  I  do  not  wish  to  complicate 
the  subject  by  introducing  a  multiplicity  of  tech- 
nical terms  unknown  to  my  readers.)  In  No.  6 
you  can  see  the  adult  grub  in  the  very  act  of  thus 
turning  round,  head  to  tail,  within  his  outer  skin, 
so  that  he  may  be  able  to  emerge  as  a  full-grown 
fly,  head  upward.  A  tiger  is  nothing  to  it,  though 
a  tiger  moves  within  his  own  integuments  more 
freely  than  most  of  us.  You  will  note  that  during 
the  feeding  stage  the  grub's  mouth  and  under 
side  were  pressed  against  the  stem  ;  when  he  has 
performed  this  curious  somersault  on  his  own 
axis,  so  to  speak,  the  head  is  uppermost,  but  the 
mouth  and  under  side  of  the  body  are  turned  out- 
ward towards  the  sheath,  not  inward  towards  the 
stem  and  hollow  centre  of  the  barley-plant.  He 
wants  now  to  bite  his  way  out,  not  to  suck  at  the 
stalk  for  its  nutritive  juices. 

I  need  hardly  add  that  it  takes  some  watching  to 
detect  such  invisible  movements  inside  a  hard  dark 
case  ;  and  only  by  the  closest  and  most  unweary- 


A  FOREIGN  INVASION  OF  ENGLAND       297 

ing  attention  was  Mr.  Enock  enabled  to  discover 
the  true  use  and  meaning  of  the  so-called  "  anchor- 
process."  It  is  really  not  an  anchor,  but  a  sort  of 
hooked  foot  or  lever,  by  whose  aid  the  apparently 
dormant  grub  turns  himself  bodily  over  within  his 
own  hardened  skin,  now  become  too  large  for  his 
shrunken  body. 

Discoveries  like  these  are  hard  to  make ;  yet 
they  bring  little  return  in  money  or  glory.  But  it 
is  only  by  such  patient  and  careful  investigation  that 
a  way  can  be  discovered  to  get  rid  of  pests  which 
cost  civilisation  many  hundreds  of  thousands,  nay, 
many  millions,  annually. 

The  grub  in  the  turning  stage  is  thus  by  no 
means  what  he  looks — a  dormant  creature ;  on 
the  contrary,  he  is  a  gymnast  of  no  small  skill  and 
activity.  The  muscular  contortions  by  which  he 
seeks  to  free  himself  of  discomfort  when  disturbed 
by  man  show  that  he  possesses  great  power  of 
contraction,  and  that  he  can  exercise  a  consider- 
able force  of  leverage. 

After  the  grub  has  succeeded  in  putting  itself  in 
position  for  assuming  the  winged  stage,  and  emerg- 
ing from  its  home  head  upward,  it  begins  next  to 
grow  into  a  true  pupa,  or  chrysalis.  It  is  in  the 
pupa,  of  course,  that  all  winged  insects  acquire 
their  wings  and  become  definitely  male  or  female, 
and  this  stage  is,  therefore,  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant. As  soon  as  the  grub  begins  to  reach  it, 
he  swells  once  more  and  grows  quite  tight  inside 
his  larval  skin,  which  is  stretched  so  much  that  it 
seems  to  be  bursting.  At  last,  as  he  wriggles  and 


298  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

twists  within  it,  the  skin  does  burst,  first  over  the 
mouth  and  head,  and  then  over  the  central  joints 
of  the  body.  Again  the  insect  twists  and  wriggles 
inside  this  half-broken  skin,  and  again  he  pushes 
it  backward  toward  his  tail,  till  at  last  he  has 
sloughed  it  all  off  entirely,  and  it  remains  a  shriv- 
elled relic — an  empty  case — in  the  spot  where  he 
has  hitherto  lived  and  breathed  and  had  his  being. 
He  is  now  a  true  pupa,  white  at  first,  but  gradually 
growing  a  delicate  pink,  and  then  rosy. 

Just  at  first,  however,  the  pupa  looks  almost  as 
formless  as  the  grub  it  replaces,  revealing  no  limbs 
or  distinct  segments.  But  little  by  little,  feet  and 
legs  and  eyes  and  wings  begin  to  be  visible  through 
the  semi-transparent  shell  of  the  chrysalis.  He  is 
changing  slowly  into  a  winged  insect,  and  you 
can  watch  the  change  through  the  delicate  horny 
coverings. 

Stranger  still,  the  Hessian  fly  at  this  stage  is  not 
torpid  and  quiescent  like  most  ordinary  insects. 
The  pupa,  as  in  many  of  this  family,  is  locomotive. 
It  has  legs  and  feet,  and  it  can  wriggle  its  way  up, 
as  you  see  in  No.  7,  where  the  lower  object  is  the 
empty  larval  skin,  now  deserted  by  its  inmate, 
while  the  upper  one  is  the  pupa,  emerging  from 
the  sheath,  and  making  its  first  experiences  of  the 
wide,  wide  world  outside  its  native  leaf-bound 
hollow.  It  is  ready  now  to  come  forth  from  the 
pupa  stage,  and  to  fly  forth  in  the  open  air  in 
search  of  a  mate  with  whom  to  carry  on  the  serious 
business  of  replenishing  the  fields  with  new  gene- 
rations of  similar  larvae. 


A  FOREIGN  INVASION  OF  ENGLAND       299 

The  succeeding  illustrations  show  you  in  detail 
the  various   stages   in  the  process  of  emergence. 
No.  8  gives  you  the  beginning  of  emancipation. 
The  pupa  has  here  bitten  its  way  through  the  leaf- 
sheath    with     its    hard, 
horny  jaws,  and  is  pro- 
truding visibly.      Just  at 
first,  only  the  head  itself 
gets  free ;    then  the  in- 
sect rests   a  while   after 
its    ardous    labour,    and 
begins     wriggling     and 
writhing       again,       this 
time     working     out     its 
body  or   thorax.     After 
another     short     interval 
for     recuperation     after 
such  a  terrific  effort,   it 
manages  to  pull  its  legs 
through  the  hole,  and  to 
support  itself  upon  them 
by  resting  them   like   a 
bracket  against  the  stem 
of   the  barley.     This   is 
the   point    just    reached 
in  the  illustration  No.  8.      N0  7>_THE  CLIMBING  PUPA; 
There    the     pupa     stops          BELOW,  THE  EMPTY  CASE. 
short,  having  got  himself 

into  a  convenient  position  for  dispensing  with  his 
coverlet ;  for  the  sheath  of  the  barley  grasps  the 
pupa- skin  tight  as  in  a  vice,  and  he  can  wriggle 
his  winged  body  free  within  it,  without  paying 


3oo  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

any  further  attention  to  the  disused  mummy-case 
which  once  confined  it. 

In  No.  9,  the  pupa  being  thus  safely  anchored, 
the  fly  is  emerging.  It  is  a  slow  and  delicate 
process,  for  with  so  many  legs  and  wings  and 


NO.    8. — THE   PUPA   COMES   OUT. 

antennae  and  appendages  to  get  free  from  the 
mummy-case,  one  cannot  hurry  :  haste  might  be 
fatal.  At  this  first  stage  of  emergence,  as  you  will 
observe,  all  the  important  parts  are  still  cramped 
at  their  ends  within  the  pupa-shell ;  but  you  can 
see  how  the  legs  and  antennas  are  striving  to  dis- 


A  FOREIGN  INVASION  OF  ENGLAND       301 

engage  themselves.  The  pupa  covering  is  propped 
as  before  by  the  empty  leg-shells  so  as  to  form  a 
bracket. 

In  No.  10 — hurrah  !  with  a  supreme  effort,  our 
fly  has  got  her  antennae  free  !    She  can  move  them 


NO.   9. — AND   THE   FLY   COMES   OUT   OF    IT. 

to  and  fro  now,  in  all  their  jointed  and  tufted  glory. 
That  enables  her  to  wag  her  head  in  either  direc- 
tion without  difficulty,  and  encourages  her  to  go 
on  to  fresh  exertions  for  the  rest  of  the  deliverance. 
But  her  feet  are  still  fast  in  that  hampering  mummy- 
case  ;  she  must  try  her  hardest  now  to  free  them 
each  carefully. 


3O2  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

First,  however,  let  her  get  the  tips  of  her  wings 
free  to  help  them.  One  good  jerk  and  out  comes 
the  first  wing.  Now  she  bends  backward  and 
forward  and  seems  straining  every  nerve.  Halloa, 
that  did  it ;  the  other  wing  is  free  !  Not  as  yet, 


NO.    10.— ANTENNA    FREE  ! 


however,  plimmed  out  and  flattened  as  it  will  be  a 
little  later ;  both  wings  at  present  look  somewhat 
thick  and  lumpy  and  stick-like.  Such  as  they  are 
you  see  them  in  No.  n,  rather  clumsy  specimens, 
while  our  lady  goes  on  with  redoubled  energy,  now 
concentrating  her  efforts  on  her  front  pair  of  legs 


A  FOREIGN  INVASION  OF  ENGLAND       303 

for  when  you  have  six  to  think  of,  one  pair  at  a 

time  is  about  as  much  as  you  can  easily  manage. 

In  No.  n,  the  first  pair,  you  will  note,  is  all  but 
free.  She  wriggles  out  one  of  them,  and  then  its 
fellow.  Oh,  how  she  tugs  and  pulls  at  them ! 


NO.  ii. — WINGS  FREE! 

Meanwhile,  the  tufts  of  hair  on  the  antennae,  which 
at  first  were  bunchy  and  little  developed,  have 
begun  to  expand  ;  she  looks,  by  this  time,  dis- 
tinctly more  like  a  respectable  insect.  Well  done, 
once  more;  two  pairs  of  legs  now  free.  No.  12 
shows  them.  But,  take  care ;  we  are  getting  now 
rather  far  out  of  the  mummy-case.  Be  sure  you 


304  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

don't  overbalance,  and  tumble  bodily  out,  tearing 
your  hind  pair  of  legs  off,  with  the  force  of  your 
fall.  Those  thin  shanks  are  brittle,  and  you  find 
little  support  now  from  the  empty  skin  and  the 
hollow  bracket. 

Nature,  however,  is  wiser  than  her  critics.     Just 


NO.    12. — NOW   FOR   THE   LEGS  ! 


when  it  looks  as  if  next  moment  the  fly  must  lose 
her  balance  and  topple  over,  she  twists  suddenly 
round,  with  a  dexterous  lunge,  catches  the  bent 
stem  with  two  of  her  free  legs,  and  anchors  herself 
securely.  No.  13  shows  how  this  is  done.  Below 
is  the  now  almost  empty  pupa-shell,  still  enclosing 


A  FOREIGN  INVASION  OF  ENGLAND       305 

the  last  two  legs,  on  freeing  which  our  astute  little 
enemy  is  busily  occupied.  But  \vith  the  twro  legs 
on  her  upper  side  (as  she  stands  in  the  illustration) 
she  has  caught  at  the  barley-stem,  one  foot  being 
firmly  planted  below  the  bend,  and  one  above  it. 
This  gives  her  a  fine  purchase  to  depend  upon 


NO>    I3.—THE   LAST   PULL  ;    THE   USE  OF  LEVERAGE. 

in  her  last  wild  blow  for  freedom.  A  long  pull, 
and  a  strong  pull,  and  she  has  got — what  the 
modern  woman  so  ardently  craves — complete 
emancipation  !  The  third  pair  of  legs  are  out  at 
last ;  she  has  all  the  world  before  her  to  wander 
over  and  lay  eggs  in. 

u 


306  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

In  No.  14  you  see  her,  then,  free,  but  resting. 
She  has  now  shaken  herself  out,  and  left  her  empty 
mummy-case  imprisoned  at  her  side  in  the  sheath 
which  holds  it.  Its  fate  no  longer  interests  her. 
Then  she  crawls  a  little  way  along  the  surface  of 
the  barley  stem,  and  presently,  clasping  it  with 


NO.    14.— HANGING  HERSELF   UP  TO  DRY. 

her  four  front  legs,  she  hangs  herself  up,  tail 
downward,  to  dry  in  the  sunshine.  No.  14  graphi- 
cally represents  this  curious  position.  Almost  all 
flying  insects,  when  they  emerge  from  the  chrysalis 
stage,  do  something  analogous.  Their  wings  are 
still  club-like,  their  antennae  undeveloped  or  not 


A  FOREIGN  INVASION  OF  ENGLAND       307 

fully  expanded,  their  jointed  legs  weak  and  groggy. 
But  after  a  time,  as  they  breathe  or  inflate  them- 
selves with  air,  all  these  parts  grow  fuller,  lighter, 
and  harder.  The  Hessian  fly  in  this  predicament 
waves  her  wings  to  and  fro  several  times  across 
her  back ;  and  in  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
they  have  plimmed  out  fully,  so  that  she  can 
soar  away  on  her  marriage-flight  to  meet  her  pro- 
spective aerial  husband.  As  for  the  tiny  silvery 
shroud  or  deserted  pupa-case,  it  is  left  protruding 
from  the  stem  of  the  barley. 

This  that  I  have  given  you  is  the  history  of  a 
successful  and  fortunate  fly  ;  but  not  every  indi- 
vidual of  the  species  is  quite  so  lucky.  As  in  the 
case  of  the  mosquito,  nature  at  times  makes  not  a 
few  failures.  Sometimes  the  flies  have  insuperable 
difficulty  in  freeing  themselves  from  their  articu- 
lated coverings ;  sometimes  they  break  or  spoil 
their  legs  or  wings,  and  become  helpless  cripples. 
Yet  so  strong  is  the  impulse  of  every  species  to 
fill  the  world  with  its  like  that  sometimes,  says 
Mr.  Knock,  even  these  poor  maimed  insects  will 
manage  to  crawl  to  a  proper  food-plant,  and  will 
lay  their  eggs  on  it  bravely  like  their  more  fortu- 
nate sisters.  He  noted  one  crippled  female  which 
in  spite  of  its  feebleness  was  eighty  times  over  a 
happy  mother.  This  is  usually  the  case  with  such 
small  insect  pests ;  their  life  consists,  indeed,  of 
two  things  only,  eating  their  way  to  the  winged 
stage,  and  then  laying  as  many  eggs  as  possible,  to 
do  like  damage  in  the  next  generation. 

Three  or  four  hours  after  emerging,  when  they 


3o8  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

have  had  time  to  accustom  themselves  to  the  outer 
air,  the  male  flies  soar  abroad  on  gauzy  wings  to 
seek  their  mates;  the  ladies,  on  the  contrary,  are 
coy,  not  to  say  somewhat  sluggish,  and  oftenest 
wait  at  home  on  the  under  side  of  a  leaf  till  their 
lords  come  to  woo  them.  The  well-bred  Hessian 
fly  does  not  gad  about  to  seek  a  husband.  But 
that  is  only  while  she  is  a  maiden  ;  as  soon  as  it 
comes  to  laying  eggs,  she  wakes  up  at  once,  and 
takes  to  business  with  the  utmost  energy.  She 
flies  off  around  the  fields  and  looks  out  a  fresh 
young  barley-plant,  suitable  for  a  nursery.  On 
its  leaves  she  alights,  with  her  head  towards  the  tip 
of  the  blade,  and  begins  depositing  her  precious 
burden.  When  once  she  has  started,  she  sticks  to 
it  for  life,  using  herself  up  (like  our  old  friend  the 
aphis)  in  the  duties  of  maternity,  and  laying  as 
many  eggs  as  she  possesses  material  for.  Her 
conduct,  in  short,  would  be  exemplary,  if  she 
wasted  her  life  on  thistles  or  nettles,  and  didn't 
choose  to  display  her  maternal  affection  on  the 
British  farmer's  barley.  So  she  goes  on  till  she 
has  worn  herself  out,  and  often  till  she  has  broken 
three  or  four  of  her  legs  in  the  pursuit  of  duty. 
Then,  when  she  grows  quite  exhausted,  and  feels 
her  latter  end  drawing  nigh,  she  hides  herself  in 
the  ground — buries  herself  alive,  in  fact ;  and  there 
awaits  death  with  patient  resignation. 

The  average  lifetime  of  the  Hessian  fly  in  the 
adult  winged  stage  seems  to  be  about  five  days  for 
the  females,  and  probably  a  good  deal  less  for  the 
males.  The  bachelors  in  search  of  a  wife  fly  some- 


A  FOREIGN  INVASION  OF  ENGLAND       309 

times  for  long  distances  across  country  ;  but  their 
prospective  partners  are  almost  always  shyer  and 
more  maidenly  ;  they  hide  under  the  leaves  and 
travel  but  short  distances,  considering  it  more  lady- 
like to  stop  at  home  and  wait  for  suitors  than  to 
go  out  and  seek  them.  They  are  not  new  women. 
Indeed,  so  great  is  their  modesty  that  they  often 
hide  in  holes  in  the  ground  to  escape  observation  ; 
and  they  usually  alight  on  the  earth,  as  their  colour 
is  blackish,  and  they  are  there  less  exposed  to  the 
attacks  of  birds  and  other  enemies  than  on  the 
green  foliage.  It  is  a  noticeable  fact  in  nature  that 
many  species  of  animals  seem  thus  to  know  in- 
stinctively the  colours  with  which  their  own  hues 
will  best  harmonise,  and  to  poise  by  preference 
on  such  colours  ;  many  dappled  or  speckled  insects, 
for  example,  resting  with  folded  wings  on  the 
dappled  and  speckled  flower-bunches  of  the  carrot 
tribe,  while  green  insects  affect  rather  green  leaves, 
and  brown  or  black  insects  come  to  anchor  on  the 
soil,  which  best  protects  them.  This  is  not  quite 
the  same  thing  as  what  is  called  protective  colour- 
ing, such  as  occurs  in  desert  animals,  most  of 
which  are  spotted  like  the  sand,  or  in  the  fishes 
and  crabs  which  frequent  the  sargasso-weed  in  the 
Sargasso  Sea,  all  of  which  are  of  the  'same  pale 
lemon-yellow  tint  as  the  seaweed  they  lurk  among  ; 
for  this  case  of  the  Hessian  fly  includes  a  delibe- 
rate choice  of  ingrained  habit.  The  insect  has 
many  objects  of  many  different  colours  spread 
about  in  its  neighbourhood,  but  it  habitually  selects 
as  its  resting-place  those  particular  objects  which 


310  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

most   closely  approach  its  own  peculiar  ground- 
tint. 

It  is  a  curious  fact,  however,  that  in  spite  of  all 
the  apparent  pains  bestowed  upon  securing  the 
perpetuation  of  such  destructive  creatures  as  the 
Hessian  fly,  the  pest  itself  has  its  own  enemies, 
as  fatal  to  its  life  as  it  is  to  the  barley.  Ichneumon 
flies  and  other  parasites  prey  by  millions  on  the 
Hessian  fly  in  its  grub  condition  ;  and  many  good 
authorities  believe  that  the  safest  way  of  checking 
the  depredations  of  the  barley-plague  is  by  en- 
couraging the  multiplication  of  its  natural  enemies. 
No.  15  shows  us  one  of  these  industrious  little 
scourges  actually  at  work.  She  alights  on  a  stem 
of  barley  infested  by  grubs  of  the  Hessian  fly,  and 
walks  slowly  along  it,  tapping  gently  as  she  goes, 
much  as  a  woodpecker  taps  with  his  bill  on  a 
tree-trunk  to  discover  the  spot  where  a  worm  lies 
buried.  After  carefully  examining  the  surface,  she 
finds  at  last  a  place  where  something,  either  .in 
the  sound  or  the  feeling  of  the  stem,  reveals  to 
her  the  presence  of  a  Hessian  fly  grub  within  the 
leaf-sheath.  Having  accurately  diagnosed  the  spot 
(like  a  doctor  with  a  stethoscope),  she  brings  her 
ovipositor  (in  plain  English,  her  egg-layer)  just 
above  the'  place  where  the  grub  is  lying  snug  in 
its  green  bed,  and  pierces  the  hard  leaf-blade  with 
her  sharp  little  lancet.  Then  she  lays  her  egg  in 
the  body  of  the  larva.  This  egg  gives  rise  in  time 
to  a  parasitic  grub,  inside  the  first  one  ;  and  the 
parasite  eats  out  his  host's  body,  and  emerges  in 
due  time  as  a  full-grown  fly,  ready  to  carry  on  the 


A  FOREIGN  INVASION  OF  ENGLAND       311 

same  cycle  in   future.      More  than  nine-tenths  of 
the    Hessian   fly   grubs   hatched   out    in    America 
are  thus  destroyed  by  parasites  before  they  reach 
maturity ;     and    it    seems    likely    that    the    surest 
way    of   fighting   in- 
sect plagues  like  the 
Hessian     fly    is     by 
encouraging  the  in- 
crease of  such  natu- 
ral destroyers. 

At  first  sight,  to 
be  sure,  it  may  seem 
improbable  that  man 
could  do  anything 
to  "  encourage  "  the 
reproduction  of  such 
very  small  creatures  ; 
but  that  is  not  really 
so*  All  that  is  ne- 
cessary is  to  keep 
the  straw  in  which 
the  parasitic  grubs 
abound,  and  so  allow 
the  two  hostile  kinds 
to  fight  it  out  among 
themselves  for  the  Na  J5— WILY  KNEMY  LAYING  HER  EGGS 

IN  THE  LARVA. 

farmer  s     benefit. 

Mr.  Knock  mentions 

an   instructive    case    of    this    sort    from   America, 

where     the     Calif  ornian     orange -growers     were 

almost     being    ruined     by    the     depredations     of 

the   scale-insect,    a   queer   little   beast   which   you 


312  FLASHLIGHTS  ON  NATURE 

may  often  find  on  the  rind  of  certain  imported 
oranges.  But  an  enemy  to  the  scale-insect  was 
discovered  in  Australia — an  enemy  to  the  scale- 
insect,  and  therefore  an  ally  of  the  harassed  orange- 
grower.  It  was  a  particular  kind  of  ladybird, 
which  devours  in  its  larval  stage  whole  tribes  of 
the  scale-insects.  That  wonderful  entomologist, 
Professor  Riley,  whose  services  were  worth  many 
millions  of  pounds  to  the  American  farmers,  got 
wind  betimes  of  this  new  destroyer,  and  imported 
a  few  specimens,  actually  sending  a  skilled  agent 
to  Australia  to  collect  them.  The  precious  little 
creatures  were  housed  at  once  in  a  muslin  tent, 
covering  a  scale-infested  orange  tree ;  and  there, 
rising  to  a  sense  of  the  duty  imposed  upon  them, 
they  laid  their  eggs  on  the  leaves  with  commend- 
able promptitude.  The  larvae  soon  hatched  out, 
and  began  feeding  upon  the  scale-insects;  and  in 
an  incredibly  short  time  there  were  beetles  enough 
on  that  single  tree  to  distribute  by  boxfuls  among 
the  distressed  agriculturists.  The  result  was  that 
before  very  long  the  scale-insect  became  a  rare 
specimen  in  California.  But  that  was  in  the 
United  States  ;  English  folk  are  too  "  practical " 
to  take  any  notice  of  those  theoretical  men  of 
science.  They  put  their  hands  in  their  pockets 
and  let  their  crops  get  destroyed  in  the  good  old 
"  practical "  way  ;  then  they  shake  their  heads  and 
observe  with  a  smile  that  "  there  are  great  diffi- 
culties "  in  the  way  of  doing  anything. 


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